Last Escape
by The Lady Frost
Summary: The wrong year. The wrong city. The wrong girl. The right moment - to change the future. This story will never be the same. (Modern retelling). (On hiatus).
1. Training Day

**Nemesis:**

 **The Last Escape**

 **Part One:**

 **Training Day**

* * *

 _Every new beginning comes from some other beginnings end._

― Seneca

* * *

 **Raccoon City - 2018**

* * *

Late. He was so late. Late late late. There was no excuse. Leon Kennedy had none whatsoever. He was just stupid enough to fall asleep playing _Red Dead Redemption 2_ online (and getting griefed by some twelve year old kid in their parents basement every damn time he tried to finish a mission) and waking up with eleven minutes to get out the door to his official final interview.

Trying to get on at the Raccoon City Police Department was a bit like applying for clearance into the C.I.A. - you were more likely to get a firing squad at dawn than an interview. But he had the test scores, he had the peer reviews, he had the commendations and citations of bravery from the academy. He had what he needed to look good on paper.

The last step was looking good in person.

So he'd cut off his ponytail for a more Keith Urban style shag and added spit shine to his boots. He'd buffed up, trimmed his nose hairs, and made sure his grill was pearly white. He'd practiced interview techniques and beefed up his cop jargon to sound smart and witty.

He was ready.

And now he was late too.

Horrified, he raced down the road in his Wrangler. It was lit. It was top of the line. It had every bell and whistle you could want in it. A graduation gift from his Mom and Stepdad, he babied the black beauty as if she were an extension of his dick. He waxed and washed her religiously and drove her like she was stolen.

She paired nicely with the .50 Desert Eagle his Dad had given him the day he'd entered the academy. Arguably, the DE was the deadliest handgun in the world. He had named her "Matilda" after his Aunt who'd been the first woman to ever take him to the range as a boy and hand him a pistol that he nearly shot his foot off with.

The big gun kicked like a mule, but it blew the top off the heads of the dummies on the range in way that made his buddies jealous. It was carefully tucked into his shoulder holster as he drove like a madman toward the station. A glance at his iWatch told him he was going to get there six minutes after his scheduled interview time.

At twenty two, he was at the top of his game. If he failed here, he'd be picking up the mantel of his father and serving on the fine Boston P.D. Nothing to turn your nose up at, sure, but the call to arms in Raccoon was what he wanted. The influx of business from Umbrella Pharm was bringing the unsavory element to the city.

The growing populace was bringing crime and a need to halt it.

Here, he could eventually reach for the stars, and join the S.T.A.R.S. himself. He was S.T.A.R.S. material, he just knew it. He was dedicated and determined and loyal. He was good with teamwork and never gave up. He was top of his class and the best shot around. He was the guy who made it into S.T.A.R.S. He just was.

Nothing could ruin that for him. Nothing.

He gunned the engine on the Wrangler to prove the point and whipped the wheel into the employee garage. He snagged a spot near the back and ran for it. Good news was, he could run all night and never get winded. That's how good of shape he was in. The bad news? The elevator was down in the garage so he had to take the stairs.

He was winded after five flights of stairs that brought him into the reception area of the RPD.

It was something. It never failed to take your breath away.

The goddess high above offered her arms to the brilliant ceiling as if Michelangelo himself had painted it. The fountain was burbling and brilliant. The floors mopped and shining. An architectural marvel, she impressed even as she offered homage to Gothic revivalist designs of her civil engineers.

But there was no time today to take it all in and adore it.

He was _late._

His boots squeaked as he almost slid to a stop in front of the S.T.A.R.S. office. The doors were shut - the other candidates already beyond them in the middle of a lecture led by Albert Wesker, the Captain. Horrified, he almost turned back - and a voice stopped him.

"Too late to run now, rookie. Man up and come on in."

"I was considering running for the hills actually."

"Nah. You don't look like a coward to me. It gets better, rookie, I promise. You just gotta take that first step."

He turned his head to look at her and forgot what he'd been about to say.

The long ponytail of her hair looked silky and dark beneath the beret she wore. Her face was angelic - big blue eyes and lots of lashes over porcelain skin. The uniform she wore was snug enough that it left the ample beauty of her curves on display like some kind of stripper pretending to be a cop. She had a tray of Starbucks coffees that he scrambled to take from her to hold while she reached for the door. Her name tag read: Valentine.

Well the name made sense anyway - since she stopped his heart just by looking at her. And then she turned and he couldn't help it, although he tried a little, his eyes looked right at her ass. It was a good one. Those ugly blue pants couldn't hide it. It sashayed and swayed like a torture flag sent to make dicks stand up and salute.

He blinked, horrified at the sappy thought. This was his BOSS. She was not some girl for him to oogle. Besides, hadn't the recent _#MeToo_ movement taught him anything? It was no ok to objectify women like that anymore. Shit in a sandwich, man, this was his _BOSS._

Leon cleared his throat. "I'm so sorry I'm late. Ma'am...the traffic-"

"No excuses, rookie. Captain Wesker and Chief Irons don't care about why." She paused as he passed by her and added, into his ear, "But don't worry too much...I'm always late too."

She took the tray of drinks from him and gestured with her head for him to claim a seat in the auditorium where they found themselves. He grabbed the closest one, trying to blend in as she took the four short stairs down to the podium where Albert Wesker was talking about "discipline and honor".

He took one of the coffees as Valentine handed the others to her companions - a big burly red head, a tall gangly looking fellow with a bandanna around his head, and a beefy dark haired guy with big ears. She claimed a seat beside the big earred one, whispered in his ear, and the lazy blue gaze of Big Ears turned right toward Leon where he hunkered in his seat.

Jesus.

She couldn't let him get away with it?

Flushed, embarrassed, Leon almost missed the end of the lecture until Wesker said, "...let's thank Officer Kennedy for assisting his senior staff with the coffees. Let's learn by his example please - if you see a senior staff member in need of assistance, I expect you to stop what you're doing to do so - even it means being late."

Oh shit.

Surprised, he blinked twice. She'd fallen on the sword for him. She'd told them he was late because he was helping her. Why?

Wesker added, "The final interview process is a ride along. Each of you will ride with a senior officer for the day to get a feel for the protocol, procedures, and lay of the land. This is a time to decide if the fit is right for you, for them, and for the RPD."

Leon glanced at the other three people in the auditorium: a tall girl, a small girl, and a big burly guy. A good selection of nervous rookies, admittedly. After a quiet conversation, the Big Ears nodded toward Leon and called, "Kid! You're with Valentine. Say thanks, because I was going to ask for you myself. I read your file - I think it's mostly glowing bullshit. So I was going to stick you on shit detail and put you through your paces on the obstacle course. Turns out - being a gentleman saved your ass."

He officially hated Big Ears. Leon glanced at his nametag: Redfield. Should have been Roidfield. He looked like he chowed down on creatine for breakfast. Leon was betting even his shits were lumpy with muscles.

Laughing, Valentine smacked his big arm, "Ease down, angry guy. Let's let the puppies play a little before you whack their noses."

Big Ears rolled his eyes, "Puppy is right man. The kid's so wet behind the ears he should be glistening with it."

"I'll harden him up, I promise."

Jesus. He realllllly tried not to picture her doing that. But he'd almost done it on his own looking at her ass in those stupid pants earlier.

What was his deal? It had to be nerves. He wasn't usually so spacey. He'd been around plenty of beautiful women. Staring at his boss wasn't helping anyone.

He would _never_ survive here if he popped wood looking at her. Never. They'd probably chop it off and choke him to death with it.

That worked. The image of losing his junk and having it stuffed down his own mouth worked like a charm. He was no longer looking at her ass or thinking of her trying to get him hard.

Leon said nothing as Jill gestured with her head.

He joined her at the side and she smiled, prettily, "You need to breathe, rook. It's not that bad, I promise. Kennedy right?"

"Right." He stiffened when she patted his arm. His _body,_ not his dick. "Leon S. Kennedy, ma'am."

She twitched her lips. "Hmm. Ease down, officer. You can lay off the ma'am stuff. I'm Jill."

He shook his head, "I'm sorry, ma'am. I'm not sure it's ok to talk to you like that."

Her big blue eyes twinkled. "Alright then. You can call me Valentine."

He nodded and cleared his throat nervously. "I'm ready and willing to serve, ma'am. I promise."

She gave him a narrow look. "No. More. Ma'am." She said it slow with a twinkle in her eyes, "Or you can go ride with Redfield."

Yikes.

He nodded, "Valentine. Got it."

"Good. Follow me." She turned and headed through the bullpen filled with eager cops. Leon hesitated. Following a ladies lead just usually wasn't his style, but in this case it was worse. He was being asked to follow that fantastic ass in those ugly pants. He hesitated for too long as she rolled her gorgeous face over her shoulder and called, "Get a move on, rookie. Unless you wanna be late for your funeral."

Yikes.

He moved.

She had him drive the squad car that they picked up at central checkout. A blonde with big tits was chewing her gum and eyeing him boredly as Jill signed the release and took the keys. In a heavy Brooklyn accent, the blonde informed him, "You're too pretty to be a cop, kid."

He opened his mouth to answer and Jill responded, "That makes two of us then, Franks."

Franks laughed, snapping the gum in her red lips. "You got that right, V. Try not to wreck this one, huh? Maybe let the rookie drive."

Rolling her eyes, Jill said over her shoulder at him, "You wreck a couple cruisers and people never forget, rookie. Remember that. You'll earn a reputation as fast as you can blink in this place."

Great.

That was good for him. He was good at everything he did. He was a top notch shot, quick of the line for puzzle work, incredible at spatial relation and witness communication. He was aces behind the wheel. He'd never so much as had a fender bender in his life (...-_-) and he was pretty much in the top one percent of the academy.

He was a shoe in.

He'd be known as Boy Wonder or something by the end of the week.

Curious, he asked, "What do they call you?"

"Depends on your department," Jill grinned and buckled up as he climbed behind the wheel, "Down in the garage - I'm Wreck-It Val. In the bullpen - I'm the Master of Unlocking. Amongst the other S.T.A.R.S. I'm the Jill Sandwich."

He blinked, twice, and she turned her head to grin at him. "Long story short - I got stuck between two enormous rednecks in a bar once after I hustled them at pool. Everyone thought I'd get my ass kicked, but I kicked the shit outta them and left them piled on top of each other in the alley behind J's Bar. Sadly for me, I didn't get a nick name like Athena or Battlesuit Bitch in Blue- oh no- because right as the squad car pulled up with the officer's on duty to take my statement...fucking Barry shouts out, "That was a close one! If they'd have double teamed you, you'd be a goner! You were almost a Jill Sandwich!" And there it was. The worst nickname in history."

Leon snorted, shaking his head as he turned left down Main Street and Jill directed him toward the call on the radio about a convenience store robbery. "...that sucks balls. I'm sorry."

"It's fine. Really. It wouldn't have been such a big damn deal but Redfield's stupid ass decide to tweet that shit and make it go viral. Before I knew it, instagram was full of _#jillsammich_ gags from every damn person in the RPD. Everyday for three weeks I got random sandwiches put on my desk with pictures of me on top of them. I finally started eating the sandwiches just to shut people up."

Impressed, Leon glanced at her, "You ate your own face?"

She winked, eyes sparkling, "I'm hardcore."

Christ. He was betting she was. Hardcore was an understatement. He was betting she was more than that in that ugly uniform.

Shaking his head, he had to laugh at himself.

Curious, Jill arched a brow, "What's so funny?"

"Just wondering if you avoided all the sexual innuendos associated with the sandwich thing."

Jill laughed and slapped his thigh companionably. "I knew you'd ask. And the answer is no. Sadly to work with cops, you have to be understanding that every day treads the line between good ol' fashioned ribbing, and sheer sexual harassment. I grew boobs at thirteen, Kennedy. I've worked side by side with men all my life. If I couldn't take it, I'd have quit a long time ago."

He nodded, enjoying her company. "You ever date anyone at work?"

Jill shook her head, snorting, "You kidding? Cops are the worst people on earth to date. Unfaithful. Slovenly. Lazy. Arrogant. All things that are great in a pal - terrible in a lover. I only date musicians if I date. And I usually don't bother. You'll figure it out pretty quick, rook, that the job takes over your life."

He figured as much, but he was ok with it. There wasn't really time in his life on a good day for girls anyway. He figured he'd hook up here and there when the need arose and focus on his career.

"Turn in here and park."

Leon rolled to a stop in the alley by the Stop 'n Go. People were scattered outside and shouting. Jill sighed and gestured with her head, "Always when you reach a crime scene, immediately check your surroundings. What do you see?"

He tilted his head, watching the crowd. "Lot of phones out, lot of people shouting and shooting video."

"Exactly. The age of a witness report is almost past, kid. Nowadays, we get a video of the assailant by somebody almost every time. Social media takes care of the rest through sharing. It's good to find bad guys, bad to protect anonymity. We had a family killed by the husband we'd stopped the first time when someone one social media let it slip that they were in a safe house in Beltane Circle. The husband went right over there and killed them plus the two cops guarding them."

Leon winced and Jill nodded. "Exactly. The internet is our friend and our worst enemy, rookie. Use it like a whore and then kick it the fuck out before it steals every last penny in your pocket." She swung out her door and Leon echoed her as they approached the store.

The shop owner, a little woman with glasses and a big belly, shouted, "Valentine! You see this!? These fucking punks broke all my top shelf bourbon and stole cigarettes. Who wrecks perfectly good liquor to steal smokes!?"

Jill patted her shoulder companionably as they moved into the over turned inside of the store. The floor was a lake of long lost bourbon and whiskey. It was a brown lpool of regret as Leon, at Jill's instruction, started among the crowd to take statements.

Jill checked security feeds and interviewed shoppers. She had a list of suspects on her pad before they even finished the first round. By lunch, they had an address on the robber.

Sighing, she mused, "Jimmy Pickles. The worst name ever for a thief."

"Or the best. I bet he's sour when we find him. You think he was sweet as a kid?"

She laughed a little, "I like the humor, rookie. Let's see how long it lasts. The good news is that in a small city like this random acts of violence don't go unnoticed. You can usually collar a suspect in a few days if they don't rabbit and run for the hills. The school shooting a few months ago was the worst."

She paused, shaking her head the memory, "I can't imagine anything worse happening in Raccoon City than all those poor dead kids at the mercy of a madman like that."

Leon nodded, steering the cruiser to the parkinglot of the apartment building for their suspect. "The janitor right?"  
"Yeah. Pissed about the principle hiring a Muslim school teacher. He kept screaming that the kids were better off dead than taught by a terrorist."

"Jesus." Leon glanced at her face. A fine sprinkling had started and the air was gray and dreary. The windshield ran as if tears were falling for those dead children. "I'm sorry."

She glanced at him, scanning his face. "You're a sweet kid. How old are you?"

He shook his head, "Does it matter?"

"Can't be more than twenty right?"

"I'm twenty-two. What about you?"

Jill laughed and shook her head, "Jesus. I'm twenty-four. Why does it feel like I'm a hundred years older than you?"

Without missing a beat, Leon answered, "Because doing what you do every day takes the shine off the carrot until there's nothing left but age and mileage."

She held his gaze in the cool gray car. "Hmm. You're a smart guy, Kennedy. What'd your test scores say?"

He sighed, rolling his eyes, "...practically a genius."

She grinned and patted his knee again, "That's right. Practically a genius...let's see if you can use that genius brain to run down a thief."

They moved together through the rainy parking lot into a run down old apartment building. The Coral Gables was a flop house at the edge of Shit Street and Crap Avenue. It was little more than plaster and peeling paint. The paint was probably a leftover from the age of lead and would kill you if you ate it.

It was smeared with old grease and flecks of filth from too many cigarettes. It smelled like burnt hair and too much bleach. The floors squeaked as they crossed the cracking linoleum in shades of puce and magenta.

Jill tugged her sidearm and Leon echoed it, ranging himself at her direction beside the door as she knocked. There was a muttering of sound within 2B before the chain rattled and a small face peeped at her. "...Jimmy isn't home."

It was pretty sad that they knew the cops were there for Jimmy. Spoke volumes about the kind of life Jimmy led.

Jill nodded, "You home alone?"

"...yes." Christ, Leon thought, the kid was maybe six.

Jill nodded and asked, "Is Jimmy your brother?"

"No. He just lives here sometimes. He likes to hang out by the clock tower."

And just like that, they had their next place to check for Mr. Pickles.

"Thanks." Jill crouched a little and instructed, softly, "You keep this door locked, ok? Even if you see a badge and a uniform, you don't open this door unless your mom or dad is home with you."

The kid said, "My mom is dead. My dad is never home. It's just me...and Jimmy sometimes."

Jill nodded again and smiled, gently. "Well you keep this door closed and locked, ok? No matter what."

The little boy nodded and closed the door on her. She sighed and rose. Leon gave her a long look and finally asked, "What can we do here? Anything?"

"Nothing. He's still got the father. We can check and see if Child Protective Services has ever been called on the family. But even still, they won't do much here. Unless we find proof the father is unfit. The best case is the kid goes into the system and bounces from home to home until he hits the streets at eighteen."

"He's young. Someone would adopt him, right?"

Jill shrugged as they jogged back to the cruiser, "Maybe. There's a bunch of kids in foster homes that make a lie outta that small hope. All you can do, rookie, is try to save the ones you can. Sometimes? All you can do is nothing. And you just gotta live with the fact that you can't save everyone."

He hated that truth.

Annoyed, he climbed behind the wheel and steered toward the park where the clock tower loomed. Jill glanced at him twice as he drove and finally queried, "I see the starry eyed hope on you, kid, and I get it. I do. I know you want to serve and protect and save the world here...but it's not always in the cards. Sometimes we get there in time, but alot of times we clean up the mess when there's nothing but blood and bullets left behind. We do what we can, Kennedy, and a lot of the time we still fall short. If you're looking for instant gratification, Raccoon City won't offer that to you. It's not that kind of town. The good news? We don't forget the dead. And the small force you're trying to get on here? We don't do anything but keep on trying. If you can't handle the losses, this isn't the fight for you. But that's what this ride along is for - to help you decide what kinda cop you want to be. The kind of gives it everything he's got and loses sometimes anyway, but keeps on strapping that badge and gun on in the morning and going back at it. Or the kind who serves a small town without any real crime and considers every day a win."

She touched his shoulder as he parallel parked by the park and Leon glanced at her. Jill finished, "There's jobs like that, Kennedy. There's no shame in walking away."

He shook his head, shrugging her hand away. "I don't run."

"Ever?"

"Ever."

"What about ass deep in alligators and pinned down in the middle of a shootout?"

"Bring it."

She grinned, shaking her head at him, "What about chased down the street by hordes of aliens bent on anal probing you?"

His mouth twitched, "I guess I better learn to fart fire."

Jill grinned, volleying her eyes over his face. It was a good face. Handsome, young, and determined. She didn't see any flinching around the eyes. That would change, after a few weeks in the saddle here. But for now?

"Aim for the head, Kennedy. Some cops will say the heart. The academy tells you to aim for the heart everytime." She shook her head, "Sometimes the heart lies. Aim for the head. The body can't function without the brain."

"Roger."

She glanced at the adorable little cleft in his chin and mused, "And don't miss."

"I never miss."

Encouraged by the bravado and the arrogance, she teased, "Ever?"

He shouldered open his door and hesitated, considered the truth of it, and said it again, "Ever."

"Good. Then maybe this is the job for you after all." Impressed with him, she opened the door on her side and climbed out.

So far, she was liking Leon Kennedy. He was good at taking orders. He was good at thinking on his feet. He'd moved among witnesses and held hands, cooed, or coerced when the mood suited. He read people well. He spoke levelly and cleanly. He was handsome, his uniform well pressed, his appearance non-threatening. He was handsome, but not in a way that girls might throw themselves at him and turn him from his job. He was fit and friendly and had a good sense of humor.

She couldn't see any reason not to recommend him for the force. In fact, she mused, he'd likely be going out for S.T.A.R.S. inside of a year on the street. She could almost SMELL the ambition on him. He was a legacy officer too - his Dad had served faithfully on the 126 out of Boston for more than twenty years, so he came from the kind of stock that didn't back down from a battle.

All in all, he'd fit in well in Raccoon City.

As long as he knew how to run down a rabbit because he didn't know it yet, but Jimmy Pickles was a runner. He never came quietly. He'd take off like a shot the second he smelled cop.

Jill nodded toward the tower and said, "There's our guy, rookie. Show me what you got."

"Why?"

And Jimmy saw them. His greasy locks shivered over his filthy hoodie. He froze in the middle of buying dope from the guy on the bench in front of him and Jill called in a sing song tone, "Jiiiiimmy - don't do it."

He did it.

He let out a squeal like a cat spooked and shouted, "OINK! PIGGGGGS! Five-oh! Five-oh! RUN FOR IT!"

And he started running like he was going for the gold.

Jill laughed, glanced at Leon and gestured, "Show me whatcha got, kid. Get 'em!"

Leon laughed and paced backward, calling to her, "Alone!?"

"I'll catch up! Get that pickle!"

He laughed again and turned back, running like he'd been born to do it while his handler whistle walked his direction until the hard work was all done. Apparently he was on his own - the story of his life.

Under his breath on a laugh, he muttered, "...women."


	2. Hot to Swat

**Nemesis:**

 **The Last Escape**

 **Part Two:**

 **Hot to Swat**

* * *

 _Every new beginning comes from some other beginnings end._

― Seneca

* * *

 **Raccoon City - 2018**

* * *

His heart beat fast and hard in his ears. The human heart pushes oxygenated blood through your body as fast as its needs it. When you run, it pushes nutrients to supply food to the muscles you're pushing to their extreme. The heart is the reason you're alive.

For Leon Kennedy, his heart was the reason he was a cop.

It beat in time with every step that he took in pursuit of a man so casually called The Pickle. The pickle could run, no getting around that, but he'd tire eventually. He was skinny, hopped up on drugs, but still out of shape. He had no idea who was chasing him.

The Pickle hit the chainlink fence at the edge of the park and climbed it rapidly like a scurrying cockroach. He landed and stumbled, nearly fell over, squeak and panicked, and took off like a shot. Leon gripped the top of the fence, vaulted, and tossed his legs to the side like it was nothing.

Impressed, Jill poured on her own speed to keep up.

The rookie was a runner. That much was clear in a handful of seconds. He even moved like a runner. She was betting highschool track team based on the way he tucked his arms in and made himself aerodynamic.

He chased Jimmy Pickle across Baker Avenue in the middle of afternoon rush hour without flagging. Jimmy nearly got hit by an Uber and clobbered by a bicyclist. Leon slid over the hood of the Cadillac that stood between them, vaulted up and over a crouched motorist tying up traffic to change a tire, and ducked under a workman fixing a light post.

It was like watching a cop show, honestly. Jill was more than impressed by the time the Pickle and Leon disappeared into the open air market on Bruster Court.

She saw birds take flight at the local aviary. She heard shop owners shout as the Pickle knocked down their wares. A kid bellowed, "SUPER COP! THIS WAY!"

And had Jill laughing as she followed the sound of the struggle as Leon made a dive toward his fleeing suspect.

It was grand. It was worthy of television. He caught the Pickle around the middle and tackled him to the ground in a fluff and poof of flour from the baker's brand stand beside HoWan's Chinese Emporium. When she came upon them, the Pickle was cuffed and on his face beside the angry roaring face of a dragon offering discounts on egg rolls after five p.m.

The rookie wasn't even breathing hard.

Jill was, and she was a runner herself. Impressed again, she tilted her head at them. "Well done, kid. First collar?"

"First one outside of training." Leon laughed and swiped flour off his face. He looked like someone had tried to coat him in fairy dust for a trip to Never Never Land. It was almost too cute for words. "Suspect is in custody, ma-"

Jill gave him a narrow look and he finished, "Valentine."

"Good, man. Let's bring him in for questioning." She crouched beside Jimmy the Pickle and sighed, "Picked the wrong day to rob the Stop 'n Go, lil Pickle."

"...I need to buy dope."

"I know." She patted his whining head as Leon jerked him to his feet by his bound hands. "Poor lil pickle junkie. Let's dry you out in lock up."

They stuffed him in the back of the squad car and Jill slapped Leon on the back, twice, like patting a puppy. "Good work, rookie. What do you say we rub this in Redfield's face?"

He mostly did NOT think about rubbing himself in her face. He didn't. She was _his boss._ He didn't think it.

He was a terrible liar.

* * *

At the station, Leon suffered through the catcalls of the rest of the bullpen as he walked through covered in white powder. Someone shouted, "I would GLADLY sniff that happy dust off your body, baby. Just say the word."

Laughter flowed around him and Jill leaned close and said, "Keep walking, rookie. Do not engage the enemy. They will destroy you."

He chuckled and she patted his back again.

Redfield was waiting with his big burly male recruit. The guy looked ill and was leaning on the wall with his hands on his face. Jill arched her brows and Redfield shrugged, "I don't think he's cut out for the RPD. He barfed during a back street abortion."

Leon froze. Jill shook her head, "You take him down by the Hooker Highway, Red?"

Hooker Highway wasn't a highway at all. It was a single block in the city. It was the part of Raccoon where one went to get laid, discreetly, and where the RPD seldom bothered to patrol. It was full of all walks of life for the horny, the lonely, and the desperately depraved. You could get your knob slobbered on by a horny house wife, a happy homo, or a trusty transexual. If you wanted to be dominated, emasculated, intoxicated, or discombobulated - there was somebody for you down on the Hooker Highway.

It was the place that most rookies went on their first day for hazing. Only a handful ever survived. Back alley abortions, drug deals, sidewalk fucking and blow jobs in the middle of the street weren't uncommon. You could witness a man behind led around in a gimp suit. A woman walking a couple like dogs and stomping on them in ice pick heels. And naked flashlight tag games were held on consecutive Tuesdays along with butthole bingo. In fact, the first three times Jill had been down to Hooker Highway as a rookie, she'd won butthole bingo - she liked to think it was because Marilyn Monroe, the drag queen, was the one shooting the balls out of her ass that night. She'd always had a special connection with Marilyn.

Redfield smiled and shrugged, "Dr. Jack was down there doing his Thursday special."

Dr. Jack - if he was a real M.D. no one could prove it- was the resident back street abortionist. If there was a hooker in "trouble" down there, Dr. Jack (AKA The Ripper) could be found helping her to freedom. Sadly, they couldn't catch him in the act to arrest him. Like his namesake, he was a mystery. But his handywork could be found in hospitals dying of sepsis and infection on any given day.

Jill tilted her head and Redfield added, "Dead baby in the trash can."

Leon paled. Jill shook her head in defeat. She glanced at the big rookie against the wall. "You sure he'll be ok?"

"He's good. Just not ready for Raccoon." Redfield studied Leon, "What about the wiz kid here? He piss his pants and muss up his pretty hair? I didn't hear anything about a flash mob, so clearly the Biebs over here didn't break out and start dancing downtown."

Leon rolled his eyes and retorted, "At least my hair doesn't look like I stuck my dick in an electrical socket, Vanilla Ice. Ninteen-nintey eight called and wants its hairstyle back when you're done butchering it. Also - you may want to shave that beard, Dumbledore, before somebody thinks this is Hogwarts and not the RPD. "

Chris tilted his head and his eyes flashed with amusement, "You giving me shit, rookie? You know what happens when you talk shit to a superior right?"

Leon shrugged a shoulder and answered, " I do. But I'm pretty sure you mixed up your words. You said _superior,_ I'm pretty sure you meant _inferior_. Did I hurt your feelings, princess? Somebody told me you were in the Air Force though, which everybody knows is the pussy portion of the armed forces, so that probably explains why your face looks like a hairy snatch. Honestly - If you shoot as good as you throw insults, it's probably good I'm here because you'll be about as useless as you are ugly."

Oh it was a good moment. Jill froze and her eyes flared wide. The handful of cops beside them turned their gazes. The silence drug out for so long that Leon was pretty sure he'd just had his first, and only, day on the RPD. But after a tense few moments where his balls tried to shrivel up and fall off in fear, Redfield finally started laughing.

He slapped him twice on the back so hard that Leon was fairly certain he swallowed a lung in the process, and the big man guffawed and roared happily, "You arrogant little shit. This kid is alright! Get this rookie a desk!"

Jill leaned her mouth against Leon's ear and murmured, "Well done, rookie. You just slayed the dragon at the gates."

And that's how Leon S. Kennedy became known as St. George. It wasn't nearly as embarrassing as Wreck-it Val. So he was satisfied with it.

* * *

The call came in during dinner about a domestic dispute in Hancock Park.

Jill and Leon weren't the only two cops assigned to the call. Chris and his rookie, known as Bitch Boy due to his barfing but otherwise known as Pete, were assigned with them. The two cars rolled lights but no sirens up to the small apartment complex adjacent to a cute little playground.

Even in the hallway leading to the stairs, they could hear the screaming.

Jill spoke, softly, but clearly, "In a domestic, you want to clarify that we will intercede if the abused party verbally compels us."

Leon nodded. But Pete needed to clarify, "Like yellling for help?"

Chris rolled his eyes, "Yes, Bitch Boy, like yelling for help."

Pete gave him a dirty look but nodded, looking pale and tired. "Got it."

Jill glanced at Leon and continued, "If she asks, we can enter. If we smell something or suspect foul play, we can enter. If there's no fighting while we're at the door, we can't do anything."

Leon held her look until she arched a brow, "I mean it, rookie. Don't St. George on me and try to slay the dragon."

Annoyed, Leon nodded anyway as Chris rapped sharply on the door, "RPD - we got a call from your neighbors about a fight."

Inside the apartment, a man shouted, "I said SHUT UP BITCH! Do you hear me!? You shut those kids up right now!" There was a scuffling sound and a thump, followed by heavy crying. A door closed and the silence spilled sharp around them as the door was cracked.

"Fuck off, five-oh. Things are fine here. Just a sunday funday up in this bitch."

Chris rolled his lip and cocked a brow, "I shoulda known - how ya been Shiv? Knifed anybody at the pool hall lately?"

Shiv was another repeat offender. He'd been hauled in for misdemeanor weapon charges multiple times. No one could catch him in the act of stabbing anyone. Maybe today was the day.

Shiv rolled his eyes, and they were yellowed, red, and bloodshot. He was high as a kite on something. Safe bet in the shitty part of town they were in was crystal meth. "Heyyyy Redfield. Good to see ya man. I'm clean, yo. Nothing to worry about. Been going to AA like I promised."

Leon snorted and Shiv turned his gaze to him, "What's this? You bring a pretty boy rookie with ya? Hey pretty boy, I suck a mean dick for a bit of fundage, ya know what I mean? I bet yours is real soft and smooth like your pretty face."

Neil gagged. Jill rolled her eyes and Leon replied, "It's probably pretty easy to do that with no teeth, guy. Why don't you just let us come on in there and make sure your wife and kids are ok?"

Shiv scoffed and held the door. "Nah, man. You pretty, but my wife is jealous of pretty boys. She knows how much I love me one. You come in here, I'm gonna need you to let me touch that pretty hair of yours. And I don't kiss nice, even for pretty pigs."

Chris held the door with the flat of his hand and replied, "Shiv, don't be stupid. I can smell the crank, man. Don't make me kick this fucking door down."

Shiv's eyes flickered. He scented blood like a panicked horse. He was gonna spook. They all knew it. He might have been ok, really, but some kid in the apartment started screaming, "She's not breathing!"

And it didn't matter anymore.

Shiv didn't just slam the door, he shot through it while he did it.

The enormous blast echoed down the small hallway. The heavy round burst through the wood and got Chris in the side as he tried to throw himself down. Blood splattered the wall behind him as he hit the ground on his side and curled there.

Neil squealed and immediately called for back up.

Jill returned fire through the hole in the door and shouted, "OFFICER DOWN! OFFICER DOWN! ROOKIE!"

Taking the cue, Leon tugged the smoke grenade off his vest and tossed it into the hole. Shiv screamed as it went off, spilling the acrid stench of potassium chlorate, lactose, and a dye as it filled the air like fog from hell. Jill kicked the door in and went to one knee, Leon took the top position and fired into the smoke the second he saw the other man flee.

The bullet took him in the back as he leaped out the window. Glass shattered, someone screamed, and Shiv hit the fire escape on his face, mewling like a kitten.

The second man in the apartment grabbed Jill by the ponytail as she swung her gun toward him. He jerked her around like a human shield and shouted, "I'll gut this bitch if you even t-"

And Leon put him down with an easy shot to the left eye. What had Jill said? Head, not heart.

The body dropped and Jill swung toward him, impressed. "...make sure Shiv is dead."

Not bring him into custody, no, make sure he was dead. In the middle of the madness, it was hard to remember they weren't the killers here. But they were. He was. He was a killer. He'd killed a man.

He waited to feel bad about it and felt nothing.

Neil was on the ground with Chris even as Redfield shouted, hoarsely, "I'm fine! I'm fine! Back up, Valentine god damnit!"

Jill turned down the hallway, gesturing for Leon to follow Shiv as she cleared toward the bedroom where children were crying.

Shiv tried to grab for the shotgun and Leon roared, through the smoke, "STAY DOWN! Do you hear me!? Stay down!"

But the other man grabbed for the gun anyway. He caught it, rolled, and Leon put him down with a clean round through the forehead. His hands were steady. He waited to see if they started shaking, but they didn't.

He stared at the dead body of a drug addict and felt nothing. Adrenaline was a powerful ally sometimes.

From the bedroom, Jill screamed, "KENNEDY! HURRY!"

He ran for it, gun up and aimed. He cleared as he went until he found her on the ground with a kid beneath her as she did chest compressions. The kid was so small - a baby really- maybe four. She was cut to ribbons and lying in a pool of her own blood. The mother wasn't much better. She lay half broken like a ruined doll against the dresser.

Her neck was cocked at a bad angle and swollen purple.

Jill was covered in blood and her beret was beside her on the ground as she shouted, "Cycle in, ok!? Cycle in and keep doing compressions!"

He did, lowering his weapon to pump on that tiny chest. She was wearing pink pajamas. The little girl on the ground was wearing pink pajamas. Pink. Like fluffy bunnies and cotton candy and unicorns or something. Pink.

Chris staggered into the doorway, bleeding but steady. Jill queried, "How bad?"

And he shook his head, "Could be worse. Side and hip, mostly."

She stared at him until he added, "I swear. I'm alright. Hurts like hell but I'll live."

The last little girl on the bed was curled on around a teddy bear. She had huge eyes in an elfin face. Jill put a bloody hand out to her, "Come here, honey. Come on. It's alright."

Chris put a hand on Leon's shoulder and murmured, "That's enough, rook. It's done. Look at her."

The girl in the pink pajamas had a blue mouth. Cut to pieces by her own father. He looked at his hands - steady at killing her father, shaking now at trying to save her life. This, he thought, this would be what broke him. It wouldn't be the righteous killing, it would be the senseless ones.

Jill picked up the other girl and carried her, calling to him, "Come on, rookie. You did good. You did real good."

Did he?

The girl was dead. They'd been too late. Because procedure said they couldn't enter the house without a certain set of rules in place. Rules - meant to help the world run better, sometimes the reason the good died young.

The blur came afterward. The paramedics, the other cops, the department shrink that interviewed him and determined it was a clean shoot. The sympathetic looks that came with clearing leather and killing two men on his first day as a cop. Not even his first REAL day - his first tryout. He'd done something that some cops went a whole career without doing - he'd baptized himself in blood.

It earned him an offer from Chief Irons and the impressed face of Albert Wesker to join the force.

All he had to do was gone home and graduate and he could come back and be a hero.

He sat in J's Bar and for the first time since he'd started down this path, he hesitated. Raccoon City wasn't what he'd thought. What had he thought? Was he the guy who thought he was going to sign on for some traffic stops and pretty drunk coeds needing rides?

No. Not exactly. But this?

How much worse could this city get?

Seriously, what if he never came back? If he hadn't been here today, Jill Valentine would be dead. So would Chris Redfield and the other rookie. He'd saved lives today. He'd lost them too, but he'd saved them.

That had to matter. Him being here, it had to matter.

He put the pen to the contract on the bar before him and hesitated to sign.

There was a rustle of sound and Jill Valentine appeared at his left shoulder. Different when she was off duty. She'd cut her hair and it swung soft and pretty to her chin. She'd drawn smoky liner around her big blue eyes and was wearing an off the shoulder blue sweater over a denim mini skirt and brown leather boots that flirted with her perfect knees. She leaned her elbows back on the bar and eyed him where he sat in his filthy uniform with the blood still flaked on his face.

She glanced at the contract and back at him, "It's ok to back out, rookie. Raccoon City ain't for everyone. For the record - it doesn't get much worse than today. You made it. And you're fucking good, Kennedy. Maybe the best I've seen in a long time."

He glanced at her and waited. She nodded, winking, "Some people are meant to be butchers and bakers..."

He quipped, "And candlestick makers?"

She grinned, reaching out to wipe a smear of blood from the cleft in his chin. He eyed her, trying to read her mood. And she replied, "And cops. Some people are made to be cops, Kennedy. You're meant to do this. It's up to you where you do."

She leaned a little forward and whispered, "But I think Raccoon City needs you."

He twitched his mouth, watching her eyes as she selected an olive out of the tray of actrouments on the bar and popped it into her mouth. "Yeah? What about you?"

Amused, Jill licked her lower lip. "Hmm. I don't date cops, remember? Especially not rookies."

He nodded, smirking a bit. "True. You said that. But what if I picked Redfield for my trainer instead of you?"

Curious, Jill tilted her head, "You think I'd break my rule for you? You aren't that cute, kid."

He laughed, lightly, "What do you say...I sign this contract, I finish the academy, and when I come back..you let me take you to dinner."

Leon put the pen to the paper. Jill tilted her head again and chortled a little. "Why not? Show me how big your balls are, rookie. Sign the paper."

He did, with flourish, and had her laughing with delight. "Well done. You're making the right choice here. I promise. Small but mighty..." She hesitated and added, "And thank you for today. You saved my life."

He shook his head, flushing a little, "I got lucky. I'm not that good."

Her laughter made him feel better somehow. He liked her being this close to him, it made the idea of going home bareable to know she was waiting here when he came back. "Not yet, rookie, but you will be. You train with Chris, you will be."

Leon laughed, watching her, "He's alright?"

"He's more angry than hurt. Nothing a few nights in the hospital won't cure. He's like a wounded bear right now. It's probably good you're leaving for a while."

He nodded as she leaned off the bar. "Where ya going?"

"Off to be with my girls, rookie. You know that." She gestured to the pool table with three pretty girls waiting for her. They all winked and raised glasses to him. He shook his head.

"Who are you,Valentine?"

"I have lots of names, remember? Pick your favorite." She tucked her hair behind her ear, "But most people call me Jill."

He laughed again, staring at her like he'd memorize her face. "I like your hair like that. Why'd you cut it?"

"To keep bad guys from using it like a weapon against me. Why else?" She tapped a fingernail on the badge on his chest, "You'll look good with an RPD one there, kid. Just saying. What's your background?"

"SWAT." He paused, considered her and added, "S.T.A.R.S. is my main goal."

"You're a door kicker?"

"I'm a jack of all trades."

She tapped his badge again, "SWAT guys usually die young."

"I'm not afraid to die."

She tried to find any sign of a lie in that statement, but his face was calm. He looked tired, a little lost, and determined. She imagined she looked the same after her first on duty kill. He'd be a helluva cop if he survived the nightmares and the guilt and didn't burn out young.

He caught her hand to lay it flat on his chest, just because he wanted to touch her - just a little. She liked it enough her eyes flashed wide and twinkled with good humor. His thumb swept over the pulse in her wrist and it bounced, enthusiastically, and made them both aware that she liked it.

"Ballsy after all. Surprise surprise." She leaned over until their noses touched, "But I'm not a girl that holds hand, Kennedy. Ever."

"Ever?"

Her eyes sparkled, "...ever."

He let her go and she tapped her boot, watching him. "You're gonna be trouble, rookie. I can feel it."

"No ma'am...I'm just a nobody looking to serve and protect. Not looking to be a hero here or make waves."

She volleyed her gaze over his face and had him flushing.

"It's Jill. Jill not ma'am. S.T.A.R.S. make waves, rookie. Too late to pretend you don't want the attention. Welcome to the RPD." She leaned close to his ear and murmured, "...Leon."

He had to admit, hearing her say his name was the best thing to happen to him in days. He could hardly wait to come back and start his first real shift. He just had to finish out his time at the academy first.

And avoid turning into a hero. After all, in all the good stories? The hero always ended up dead.


	3. When the Wrong STARS Align

**Nemesis:**

 **The Last Escape**

 **Part Three:**

 **When the Wrong Stars Align**

* * *

 _Every new beginning comes from some other beginnings end._

― Seneca

* * *

 **Raccoon City - 2018**

* * *

He half expected the ribbing he took on the day of his graduation. It was typical for men to give him shit with his test scores and his glowing praise from all his superiors. It was made infinitely worse because as he lifted his right hand to recite his pledge and become a certified officer, he took notice of who was standing three pews back on the left side of the church.

She was something in a pair of jeans. She was a ** _knockout_ **in a dress.

Blue was definitely her color.

The soft sable swing of her hair lined her jaw and looked silky and dark. Those big blue eyes were ringed in a dark kohl liner and winged in a way that reminded him of a cat. The dress was simple, knee length, and a blue the color of summer skies. Three shades darker than her eyes and paired with simple black pumps. It was a sunday church dress, demure and lady like. It had a fitted bodice beneath a matching collared jacket. A pendant dangled at the suggestion of her cleavage and a S.T.A.R.S. badge graced her lapel.

She winked when she saw him and he was pretty sure, mostly sure, he didn't blush.

Probably.

As the recitation of their oaths ended, the newest officers took their standing ovations and cheering in stride as they exited to the left of the dais. Leon got an elbow from the man beside him and a quip, "You got more stars than the rest of us after all, Kennedy."

Clearly a nudge toward Jill Valentine who was currently walking toward him as well as his many commendations.

Jill cocked her head she approached. She had to admit, he sure looked cute in that little suit he was wearing. It was black and lined with gold stars at the lapel and two tiny medals clipped to the pocket. The tie was neatly done over a crisp white shirt. The hair was still rebellious enough to tell you that he wasn't a complete straight arrow. If he was, he'd have gotten a high and tight like his fellow graduates.

Jill felt her mouth tilt into a smile, "Lookin good, rook."

Leon laughed, shaking his head. "You always show up at the graduation ceremonies of new recruits?"

"Nope." She touched the arm of his suit to feel the soft warm fabric, "Sometimes I make an exception. I would have waited for your first day, but I needed to bring some news."

Her tone was a little stiffer as they separated from the well wishers and moved into the narrow alcove of the church for some quiet. He studied her face as he asked, "What is it?"

Jill pursed her lips and finally informed him, "The scatter shot from that shotgun blast did more damage than we thought. Redfield is on extended convalescent leave until further notice. He's taken the time to go visit his sister at college and recover."

Leon shook his head and answered, sympathetically, "I'm sorry to hear that. He'll be alright?"

"Prognosis is good, but he's having spasms in his right hand that impact his ability to control his weapon. He'll need physical therapy to regain full function. He's out of uniform for at least six months."

Leon nodded and neither realized that he'd taken her arm at the elbow at some point to steer her clear of the crowd, but that he'd kept his hand on it to rub, almost reassuringly as she spoke. "Still...good news after that bad, I guess."

"Yep." She tilted her head at him, "But it leaves an opening on Alpha Team."

He paused. He blinked. And she just kept right on looking at him, levelly.

His brows arched. Hers did too.

He tilted his head left. She tilted hers right.

And he vocalized his doubt, "...what? Me?!"

"Yeah. You. Why not?"

He laughed now and her hand turned to grip his forearm as he started to turn away. "I'm a rookie, Jill."

Jill.

No Valentine. Just Jill. Apparently, outside the uniform, he was ok with her being Jill. She liked it. It made it easier to become friends and partners. Because without Chris, she had no partner. She was hoping to train Leon Kennedy to fill the slot. Chris wouldn't have it any other way. Before he'd left, he'd told her, "We've been doing this a long time together, Valentine. That rookie? He went through that door, he took direction, he shot first and asked questions later. He's good. Better than half the guys on the squad with us. Shit- Vickers would have pissed his pants and run for the hills. Get the kid. Be his Yoda. Make him a Jedi."

Jill had laughed and punched his good arm. "I'm gonna miss you, Red."

"I won't be gone long. In the mean time, you could do worse than Leon Kennedy."

She believed that. She just had to convince the kid of it.

"Ok. So? So was I once." Jill shrugged and added, earnestly, "I never went to the police academy, Leon. I was Delta. Then I was S.T.A.R.S. That's it. I have no formal police training."

Surprised, he volleyed his gaze over her face. She was quiet for so long, he asked, "Seriously?"

"Yep." Her hand slid down the inside of his forearm and gripped his. "I saw you move. I saw you shoot. I saw you react. Rookie or not, you can do this. I'll help you work on your hand to hand, the rest of the team can work with you on your squad dynamic."

He rolled his palm until theirs aligned, watching her expression. She meant it. She was earnest about it. Touched, he mused, "Aren't there lists of officers trying to get on?"

Jill shrugged, "For various reasons, most of them fail testing. But I'm here to make sure you don't. Say yes - try out. You'll make it, I promise you."

"What if I don't?"

She laughed, eyes twinkling, "I never take risks, rookie. I'm not the betting type. I prefer a sure thing." She nodded, vehemently, "You're a sure thing. Say yes, and let me help you."

He shook his head, touched by her belief in him, "What can I say to that? Yes."

"Great. Now say goodbye to your pals and let's get going."

He laughed and someone wolf whistled, "Kennedy! Your girlfriend is smokin hot!"

Surprised, they dropped hands like the other had burned them. Jill felt her neck creep hotly and Leon was pretty sure someone had turned up the heat in the church. They both blushed as they separated and Leon called back, "Welcome to the third grade, Wozowski!"

"If it was the third grade, you'd fart on your girl there to tell you liked her!" Laughter accompanied the good old fashioned ribbing. Leon glanced at her apologetically.

"I have no words."

She laughed, shaking her head, "No need for them. Working in law enforcement is like working without a filter. The good ones know when to stop joking and do their job."

He nodded and finally added, "For the record...I'd fart on you if you asked me to."

She couldn't stop the laughter. Her hand squeezed his biceps as she backed off. "That's the strangest compliment I've ever had. You're something else, rookie."

And someone shouted, "You want to see my something else, darlin? Forget Kennedy, he's so uptight that if you shoved a lump of coal up his ass, he'd probably squeeze out a diamond."

Leon shook his head, sighing, "So much for professionalism huh? Now I'm just a stick in the mud."

Amused, Jill turned toward the doors to the church, "Nothing wrong with that. They call me the Ice Queen. Fuck 'em. Leave these jokers behind, kid. I'm about to make you a star."

There was nothing Leon loved more than a good pun. She turned toward the doors and stepped into the sunlight and he reconsidered that because her ass looked incredible in that dress. He was starting to wonder if he should have farted on her when he had the chance.

* * *

After three rigorous days of knife training, Jill was pretty confident he was ready. He moved like he shot, effortless and determined. He was smooth and smart and relentless.

He got cut enough times that she was surprised he didn't throw in the towel, but each tiny nick from her knife seemed to propel him harder toward victory. The kiss of steel, the sing of metal striking metal, and his determination was nearly as musical. He was good at boxing, it was clear he'd spent time in the ring.

He was willing to learn at hand to hand. She foot swept him, kicked his knee out, and head locked him enough times that she was sure he had the pattern memorized. She instructed him in the simple method of S.I.N.G. when facing an attacker from the back -

"Solar plexus," And she elbowed him in the chest.

"In step," And she stomped his foot at the edge and the top.

"Nose," And she elbowed him clean in the face while he grunted and released his hold on her neck.

"Groin," Her hands swept down and hit him, softer than she might have if he'd really been after her, clean in the junk.

His face reddened. He coughed and tumbled and Jill caught his shoulders as he nearly went to his knees. Her eyes sparkled, "There are ways to stop anyone who grabs you, Kennedy. Don't forget to sing."

He muttered, "I really hate _Miss Congeniality."_

Jill laughed and shrugged where she held him. "It teaches the basics of stopping an attacker, rookie. We all learn that first day on the job."

As she went to release him, he grabbed her wrist with a rolling move of his own and jerked. She spilled foward against him and lost her footing. With a grunt, she laughed, "Now what?"

And he hooked his ankle behind hers and spilled them both to the floor with him on top.

Jill hit the mat on her back and lost all of her air. She shifted and he caught both her wrists and pinned them at her hips. Curious, Jill tilted her head at him.

On one hand, he wasn't very heavy. He should probably consider adding some bulk to his lithe frame to effectively pin his opponents, but he was muscled. His arms in the sweaty gray shirt he wore were nicely honed.

She mused, "You think you can hold me here?"

His nose dripped sweat down on hers. His hair was peeled back from his face and gave the illusion of being short. Before he could answer, Jill humped her hips toward him. It shoved him off center and she humped her entire body up.

They rolled across the mat, grappling for control.

She ended up on top with his arms crossed and pinned to his chest like an undertaker. Straddling his thighs, she gripped his legs together with her own. Panting from the exertion, she informed him, "Smaller doesn't mean weaker. You're bigger than me, stronger, but not better. As quick as you are, I'm quicker. And I can see your moves before you can. Part of fighting like this is anticipating your opponent. I know what you'll do. That makes me better."

He tilted his head. "Do you?"

She nodded, tossing back her sweaty hair. The headband she wore kept it at bay, but it was still dipping wetly over her brow. "I have to. It's the only way I can stay alive when you're bigger and stronger than me."

He nodded on the floor, "I have to learn to anticipate you."

"Right." She watched sweat run down his neck and pool in his collarbone. "What happens now?"

Leon shrugged, "I get my hands loose."

"Ok. How?"

He jerked against her restraint and she laughed, "That won't work. I'm using my body weight to hold you like this. Try again."

Leon jerked on his arms again and Jill shook her head, "Stop trying to free your limbs. Not these ones. What else do you have?" She leaned down until their noses brushed, "...I could bite your throat out like a vampire right now. Stop me."

He rolled his hips left like he'd toss her off. Surprised, she almost went over until she shoved him back. "Good! Surprise is your best friend here. Try again."

"Surprise?"

"Exactly."

He craned his mouth up and and kissed her.

Their lips brushed wetly. He tasted salty. Her hands let go of his to grab his face. His tunneled into her hair and turned her into him. There was a handful of seconds where she decided what to do - and she opened her mouth.

His tongue swept in, she rolled to her back and he surged over her, and she arched her hips. They both knew where this ended, surely. But she was incredibly sad to end the kiss.

Her back curved, her legs rolled up, and the movement just kept on going. Leon muttered, "...shit." And it was over.

He went up, he let go of her hair, and he went over.

She kicked him in the gut, sent him up and over, and he landed on his back behind her on the mat with a grunt. Their faces turned toward each other where they were aligned on the sweaty surface.

Jill felt her mouth twitch. "You kiss me to throw me off?"

He winked and a bead of sweat rolled down his temple. "Sure. We'll go with that. You throw me off because I kissed you?"

She winked back and answered, "It's better than farting on me."

And they both laughed as they rolled to their feet as Jill encouraged, "Ok, kid...let's do this again."

That was thing about Leon Kennedy, she mused, he never gave up. He just kept getting up and trying again. She had to appreciate his drive - it mirrored hers perfectly.

And honestly? She was pretty sure she wouldn't kick him out of bed for farting on her.

The image of it, coupled with the hip throw he pulled to send her rolling, simply made her laugh and turn around to face him again.

* * *

Wesker took him out, alone, on a call to test him.

Nervously, Jill waited back at the station. She knew how picky their Captain was about his recruits. He'd made the mall jump through hoops when he'd first formed the squad.

The newest addition to Bravo was Rebecca Chambers. She was young, energetic, and right out of medical school. A baby, at eighteen, she was barely old enough to join the Army - but she had the brain of a genius. He'd snapped her up, trained her, and attached her as a medic to the S.T.A.R.S.

She was so painfully new that she eagerly saluted and snapped to attention when she saw senior officers. She bellowed YES, SIR and YES, MA'AM enthusiastically as she took orders. She was smart and cute and determined.

But untested.

She wasn't a fighter.

The curious thing was neither was Brad Vickers.

Jill watched him pick his teeth with a toothpick and wipe it on Barry's coat. The little weasle. He was useless. A savvy pilot, sure, but before they'd lost Chris they hadn't really had a need for another pilot. It was curious why Vickers had passed by other more talented options to join the elite.

He was a notorious coward, an overt pervert and misogynists, and a clown. He couldn't shoot, couldn't fight, and panicked when the sun set. As far as she could tell, he'd never even pulled his weapon during missions.

She was curious what purpose he was really serving on their team. Surely they could find a better pilot with more tactical training. Surely.

Hell, Kevin Ryman had audiutioned twice for S.T.A.R.S. and failed to make the cut and he had plenty of background in military and tactical training. He and Chris and Barry had served together in the Air Force. He could fly, he could shoot, he had incredible commendations from his superior officers - but a bit of a love of the bottle as well. Was it the heavy drinking? You'd be hard pressed to find a cop that didn't hang loose around a bottle.

With what they saw? It was a rare occasion to find a cop that didn't drink their troubles away. Surely he was still a better choice than Vickers.

Jill studied the jacket and the guitar sitting beside Chris' desk. It was quiet in the office without him. He'd been the type to give shit to Vickers and Barry and her when the mood suited. Without him, things in the office were duller.

Against the wall where he worked on the console, Frost mused, "Anybody know much about Tinder?"

Curious, Barry glanced up from cleaning his .44 long barrel, "You that desperate?"

"Maybe. I need to get laid man. It's been eight months since Courtney left me. If I don't see some puss soon, I'm going to consider paying for it."

Vickers chimed in, "I heard you already do, man."

And Joseph replied, "I don't know, Brad. Why don't you ask your mom?"

Jill rolled her eyes but laughed. Barry replied, "Tinders for losers, dude. I can fix you up with a nice girl. Cathy's sister is in town."

Interested, Joseph stop trying to get the Bluetooth on the console to sync with the satellite phones for the squad. "Yeah? She look like Cathy?"

Barry nodded and picked up his Galaxy phone. He flipped to a pic of a dark haired girl with big blue eyes. "Younger. But they could be twins."

Joseph nodded and gave him a thumbs up, "Set that shit up, dude. She's smokin hot."

"That's my sister in law, Frost. Don't even attempt to use and abuse her." Barry gestured to the gun on his desk, "Unless you want to see how like Dirty Harry I can be."

Brad cleared his throat, "You couldn't pay me to date your sister, Burton."

Jill replied, rolling her eyes, "Brad no one would ever pay you to date someone. They'd pay you _not_ to."

Barry and Joseph chuckled and the office door opened. Wesker came through and the laughter ceased. He gestured with his head and Jill rose to follow him into his office.

Perching on the desk, Wesker told her, "He's good. He's in. I want him field ready in four days."

Wesker never failed to ask for the moon and expect it handed to him. But Jill nodded, grinning, "Yes, sir. Right away."

"Valentine?"

She paused, turning back to look at him, "Sir?"

"If he fucks up, I'll hold you personally responsible."

Nodding, Jill answered, "Understood, sir."

Wesker watched her go and sighed, tapping his gloved fingers on his desk. He was still plugging holes to the potential leaks associated with their future operation. It was hard, nearly impossible, to make sure nothing popped up on social media and brought the government down too soon. But he'd hired Chambers to secure their field gear and firewall it. If he was lucky, she'd do too good of a job and limit the range of their devices when the time came.

If he could control what happened in the woods, he could control the team. He'd planned for it with Redfield at the helm.

The monkey wrench was Kennedy, but he'd dug until his fingers bled to find anything on the rookie that might compromise the operation. So far, it was all clean. He was whistle clean, in fact, from a good home with great test scores. His aptitude scores were even better than Redfield. In one hand, he might prove a better test subject.

Only time would tell. They had four days to get him ready.

And then it was time to start closing the coffin lid on Umbrella.

He'd thought it would be Redfield that would help him do that but maybe it was Kennedy. Maybe Leon Kennedy was the key to bringing down Umbrella and putting himself at the helm of a ship bound for a new world.

Maybe Leon Kennedy was about to become his unwitting ferryman to blood red future.


	4. Hard Target

**Nemesis:**

 **The Last Escape**

 **Part Four:**

 **Hard Target**

* * *

 _Every new beginning comes from some other beginnings end._

― Seneca

* * *

 **Raccoon City - 2018**

* * *

Jill rapped a knuckle on the door of the men's locker room. The laughter in the room told her it was occupied by more than one cop. A swing of the door produced two rookies emerging in full riot gear.

She arched her brows and the first one said, "...training day."

She nodded and patted his arm, "Stay with your squad. Stay low and high, cover your six."

They nodded and the youngest one piped up, "Thank you, ma'am."

She waited until they scurried off and rapped again on the door. Kennedy's voice instructed, "I'm decent. Come on in."

She did, slowly, "You alone?"

"Yup."

He was, indeed, alone. He was also finishing up strapping on his vest over his S.T.A.R.S. uniform. The velcro made that distinctive ripping sound as he adjusted the strap on the side. The unit was flexible enough that there was on no one design for them.

He'd chosen black and the S.T.A.R.S. logo was emblazoned in gold along the back of the vest. He had a knife strapped to his chest, a gun strapped to his thigh and holstered at his side, and a series of pouches for his ammunition. His hair was swept back and away from his face, still damp from his shower, and he managed to look somehow too young and too old in his new uniform.

It worked. It reminded her they were both young, eager, and ready.

He was ready.

Or he would be in four days.

Jill tilted her head, "I like it. How does it feel?"

Leon shrugged and laughed, "Odd. Like it's the wrong uniform."

"It's not. Unless you let it be. But you have to earn the badge that goes with it."

They held eyes as he holstered his side arm at his thigh and buttoned the leather. "I'll earn it. Trust me."

She did. It was a good thing as he was about to learn how to partner with her. Trust was implicit to the whole relationship. She gestured with her head, "Let's see what ya got, rookie."

She dumped all of Chris' abandoned cases on his desk as Leon sat down at it. He didn't say a word, he just started reading old case reports and trying to decipher Chris' chicken scratch.

Most of the afternoon was eaten away in paperwork as he filed, filled in, typed up and turned in. He was good, but most rookies were when it came to paperwork. He did grunt work like a champ and never complained.

Jill came back from the bathroom to find him strumming on Chris' guitar and paused. He was very good at that too. He hummed notes and tuned her up, strumming chords effortlessly.

She tilted her head and Leon shrugged, catching her eye, "All my life."

"Yeah?"

"My mother was a musician. Mostly church music. But it trickled down. This is a nice Fender. He plays well?"

Jill shrugged, "Honestly I couldn't tell you. He strums on it. He calls it Excalibur. I know Claire said it was his Dad's. Can't tell you if he sings any. Clearly, you do."

Leon shrugged again and strummed more notes. "When it suits me."

"Just the guitar?" She perched on the edge of the desk as he played a soft version of a Brett Young song.

"Guitar. Piano. Enough flute to get by."

"So you sing the gospel stuff?"

He laughed and shifted the song to something more familiar. Joseph whistled across the room, "Yeah, boy. Country is god."

Jill felt her eyes sparkle, "You a good old country boy?"

Leon grinned and shrugged, "Missing my cowboy boots though. Wanna rope a steer some time?"

She kinda did, which made her smile at him. "Impress me."

He strummed a Rascal Flatts song and had her laughing and shaking her head. A mournful song of a girl that got away, of course. Jill felt her lips twitch. If he wasn't aware of the power of a guitar and a pretty face, he was an idiot. She was betting he wasn't an idiot. "That's the magic, I think."

Barry mused, "You kidding? The kid just made the hookers in chair fall in love with him."

She watched Leon's face as he adjusted the strings. There was a little shift in her that amused her. She figured it was that way for girls when they saw that face and heard that music. Hard to resist a handsome guy with a guitar.

She started to ask him to sing more for her and Wesker's office door opened. "There was a series of attacks near the forest perimeter by the clock tower. Looks like wild dogs. Victims were apparently eaten."

Brad looked ill. "I can run command here, sir, if you'd like someone to stay in house."

Wesker gave him a droll look, "Gear up, Vickers. Every hand on deck for this. There were at least a half dozen victims. We might be doing some varmint hunting." He sighed, "I could use Redfield's rifle, but we'll make do. Kennedy?"

Leon put the guitar down and sat at attention, "Sir?"

"Let's see how you handle hunting bad guys in the dark." Wesker tilted his mouth in a smile, "Trial by fire."

He closed his office door. Brad sighed and lamented, "Why does he need me!? He knows I can't see shit in the dark."

And Joseph replied, "Sure you can, Vickers. Just look down."

Brad did and furrowed his brow, "Like on the ground?"

Barry sighed and shook his head, "Even good jokes are wasted on you, Vickers. He means at yourself. Because you're a piece of shit."

Offended, Vickers shouted, "I'm not a piece of shit! I get girls all the time!"

Jill rebuked, "Dude, you couldn't get a girl if you had a hundred dollar bill sticking out of your zipper."

Brad shouted, "I'm a ladies MAN! I fuck chics like James Bond! Kennedy, you believe me right?" So hopeful. Like a puppy who needed a pat.

And Leon answered, "I'm sorry man. You look like the type of guy who cyber stalks a high school cheerleader's Facebook page and photo bombs all her pictures so you can tell people you're together."

Joseph laughed. Barry nodded, "I agree. The kinda dude that hangs out at the prom and waits for it to let out to attempt to pick up any drunk chics that might need a ride home."

Jill added, "Who puts dick pics on Craigslist and asks for someone looking to "ahead" in life."

Brad lifted both middle fingers at them all as Joseph returned, "Who upvotes every pretty girls picture on Reddit and adds little comments of bad poetry to try to convince her he's "evolved"."

Barry chirped, "While jerking off in his Mama's basement."

Everyone laughed but Brad who whined, "You guys told me you'd lay off me with Redfield out!"

And Leon mused, "Was Redfield the type to lay on you instead?"

Everyone laughed again until Wesker's door opened and he queried, stonily, "Really? We have time for laughter? Perhaps you'll all be laughing while you assist in clean up detail as well. I expect better decorum from all of you. Immediately."

His door shut and someone cleared their throat. Quietly, Barry whispered, "...I feel like I just got shamed by my Father."

To which Joseph whispered back, "Father Time? God knows he'd have to be to still be alive."

Barry rolled his eyes and hissed, "I'm only forty, you stupid fuck."

And Jill whispered, "Forty is the new eighty, Barry. Get real."

And the snickering accompanied all of them toward the door.

* * *

Vickers landed their chopper at the southern corner of the forest.

They geared up at a mobile station just outside the treeline. The clock tower loomed above - pretty and bright.

He snapped the shell into the barrel of the heavy gun with a jerk of his wrist. Catching Jill looking, Leon tilted his head at her. "Ma'am?"

She pursed her lips. "We talked about that. No ma'am. It's Jill."

He shrugged, looking a little sheepish, "You're my commanding officer here, Jill. I should call you ma'am."

Jill rolled her eyes, "We're team mates now, Kennedy. Partners. You call me Jill or I'll call you Doofus McStupid."

Joseph looked up from where he was loading his rifle. "I thought that was my name."

Barry mused, "His name is my name too."

Brad quipped, "Your name is Hairy McAssCrack."

Joseph snorted. Jill scoffed. Barry looked at Brad drolly and slapped him upside the back of the head. From the dark, a small figure was hurrying toward them. She snapped her little feet together, her hand snapped to her forehead, and her back snapped to attention as she called, sharply, "Sir, Captain Wesker, sir. Reporting for duty, sir."

Leon glanced at Jill with his brows up and Jill chuckled, "That's Rebecca Chambers. She's a medic from Bravo. We're borrowing her."

"Ah."

Wesker remarked, coolly,"At ease, Chambers. Gear up."

The skinny little urchin hurried to grab her gear and put it on over her small medic bulletproof vest. She eagerly stuffed first aid in her backpack and muttered to herself as she mixed herbs. Leon made her jump when he asked, "You need some help with anything?"

Rebecca squeaked and laughed, shaking her head, "No, sir. Thank you. I'm alright. I'm almost done, I promise."

There was no more laughter as they scattered in the dark to hunt wild dogs.

The bodies of the dead would haunt him, Leon was sure of that. They'd been more than eaten. They'd been torn apart in places. This close to the mountains, the threat was something larger than dogs. Mountain lions maybe or an errant pack of starving wolves.

The strange part had been a set of children near the swings. He'd spent nearly five minutes looking at their wounds. Not just tearing and devouring, no, more simple than that. Almost humanoid in the presentation of the teeth and tearing at the jugular.

Earlier, Jill had joked about vampires. But the bites on the kids had seemed human. Surely not. Vampires?

No. But cannibals? Maybe.

He searched similar crimes on his phone with Google before they set foot in the forest. The internet was full of horror stories and urban legends and various sources, but the blog of one local reporter is what really kept his attention.

Ben Bertolucci wasn't just hinting at some kind of conspiracy, he was out right saying it. His uploaded video showed a handsome man in glasses that managed to look studious and still rebellious with a winged back hair style that reminded Leon of John Wick or something.

He was speaking into the camera that was aimed behind him at the R.P.D. As he spoke, his voice carried on the cool wind. "The blogosphere is lit up tonight with the news: Brian Irons, the revered police chief, has a lot of explaining to do. The orphanage had a "chemical spill" recently," He lifted his hands to do air quotes, "But what one clean up worker revealed to me, privately, is that nothing in that place was right to begin with. He talked about the children being hollow eyed and pale. He talked about a room off to the side that wasn't just padlocked, it was sealed. Who seals a room in an orphanage? Irons, when asked for comment, claimed the old building was being renovated and that the room was still thick with asbestos so it was sealed for the safety of the children. But the children themselves? The records I found indicated they were "adopted" but the families listed on the forms don't exist. They aren't real."

Bertolucci glanced at the RPD and back at the camera, "That's right. These kids are being adopted by people that don't exist. How is this possible? Irons won't answer my calls now. And the RPD has blocked me on social media. I still have spies gathering information though. They should know the world wide web has many holes for the eager reporter to climb through. Stay tuned. I'm gonna get those answers."

Bertolucci's YouTube channel had nearly half a million followers. He'd reached enough people that he'd clearly upset someone in higher management, because his last transmission via the channel talked about how he was being arrested without proof. He cautioned his viewers against giving up the "fight for the truth".

The comments were eager, excited, and finally tapering into afraid. It had been eleven days since Bertolucci had uploaded any updates or videos. His viewers were starting to expect foul play. The anonymity granted by the internet had limits, it seemed, because the noisiest voice of dissent - RedButterfly- had gone silent a few days prior. Apparently, whoever had taken Bertolucci, it seemed likely they'd silenced RedButterfly as well.

Leon considered it as he loaded the shotgun in his hands. The orphanage was just on the other side of the forest perimeter adjacent to the clock tower. If someone had wanted to turn the public eye from the heinous sensationalism of the orphanage activity, a brutal murder in the park would do it. Was this just a way of diverting public interest until the orphanage was cleaned out and the truth lost?

Something shivered in the woods close to him.

He froze, listening.

Into his headset, Wesker's voice instructed, "Split off. Barry, Joseph head toward the old farmstead beyond the rise. Jill, Kennedy move north toward the base of the mountain. Chambers, you and Vickers stay with me. We'll split here and head toward the trainyard."

They did, shifting through the dense brush.

Jill moved up beside him, her boots crunching through the dark leaves. Quietly, she informed him, "There's a small amount of homeless that take up residence in the old farm stead and the trainyard. If the pack is picking off food, they'll be getting it from there. The base of the mountain is more likely where the den might be. Stay sharp."

Great.

They stepped gingerly through the dark. The night-vision goggles Jill wore made her look comic, but no one was laughing. She was sharp and quick, cutting a path through the trees that was invisible to the naked eye. Leon covered her six, moving in tandem and trying to be aware in a world where he was almost blind.

It was Jill's whisper that stopped them both, "...what the hell?"

He bumped into her back and she added, "There's a goddamn mansion over there."

Surprised, Leon squinted through the dark, "You kidding?"

"No. What the hell is a mansion doing out in the woods like that? I've never seen that on any topography of the area. I've lived in Raccoon City for almost a decade...I never even knew that was there."

"Maybe it's abandoned?"

Jill shook her head, peering through the trees, "The damn thing looks operational. There's lights in the windows."

"...you want to check it out?"

"Yeah. I think that w-" And she shoved him to his ass in the trees. He went down, grunting, and a body flew over the top of him, taking some hair with it. It roared, it stank, and it hit Jill in the chest instead.

It threw her onto her back and her gun went off. She shouted, Leon kicked wildly, their headsets crackled, and his boot took the dog snarling into her face right in the side of its snapping jaws.

It yelped and Leon shot it as it leaped back and turned. The bullet tossed it sideways as another snarled at tried to avenge its comrade. Jill shot it from her back on the ground and Leon jerked her to her feet.

Over the headset, Rebecca called, "HURRY! Hurry! The trainyard! Officer down!"

Hell had broken loose as the sound of Barry and Joseph firing in the distance filled the air. Jill and Leon started running toward the trainyard and over the head set, Barry called, "The farmstead is over run. The farmstead is lost. Aborting. Sir?"

And Wesker joined the conversation, "Evacuate. Abort. We need a fall back location. Jill?"

Jill told them, "Sir, there's a mansion about a hundred yards from my location near the base of the mountain at the eastern edge of the forest."

"Team - head toward that mansion."

She and Leon cut left across an open field. Over the headset, Vickers called, "Sir! I'm gonna make a run for the chopper."

Wesker's voice admonished, "Don't do it, Vickers. Follow orders."

"Sorry, Captain. We need that chopper!"

Brad was a moron. He never listened. He was as useless as he was a coward. He'd get to the chopper, alright, and likely leave them all behind.

The sounds of paws in dirt chased them over the wide open space. Jill ducked left as one leaped between them. It hit the ground, spun three hundred and sixty degrees, and challenged them with a roar and a face that dripped with rot. Leon froze and Jill gasped, "What the fuck!?"

"Is it dead?!"

That wasn't possible.

But to be sure, he shot it anyway while it charged them.

It yelped and went down on its side, rolling over the dirt. They leaped over it and kept running.

The trees closed around them again as they cut back through the forest. The long drive to the mansion seemed like it was taunting them. Jill shouted and shoved Leon hard in the side. He stumbled and one of the dogs missed him as it attacked.

It spun back and went for his legs. He kicked it since it was too close for a clear shot. It yelped and snapped and tried again. Jill shot it in the side of its face as it caught his pants with a scream of ripping cloth.

She shouted in horror and Leon yelled, "I'm fine! I'm fine! It didn't get me! Keep going!"

Her gun clicked empty and she holstered it, pulling the knife from her vest. Leon covered them with the shotgun as they raced for the doors. Wesker jerked the heavy wood open and shouted, "COME ON!" He waved them inside with his arm.

They burst through and the door jerked closed followed by the heavy thud of bodies striking mahogany.

The first thing that was clear was that they weren't alone in the lobby but they might be in the house. The incredible foyer was spotless, shiny, and well maintained.

And empty.

Your voice echoed as you spoke.

Jill queried, breathing heavy, "Sir? Barry? Joseph?"

Wesker gestured with his hand, "I saw them beat us here. They were already gone from the lobby when we arrived. Vickers?"

Jill shook her head, "I didn't see him. Maybe he'll get help."

Wesker nodded, sighing. "Hopefully he'll radio Bravo team and get an evacuation team out here. I counted about thirty dogs at one point. We grossly underestimated the size of the pack."

Rebecca whimpered sadly, "We're alone in this house?"

Jill listened and Leon responded, "I don't think so. I've heard at least four different foot steps from various locations. Even if two of those are our guys, the other two aren't. Do we know what this place is?"

Wesker shook his head, "Someone built a home here. The questions is who. The why doesn't matter. We secure the mansion until help arrives. That's protocol."

He was bleeding from the side of his face. Rebecca shifted over to treat him and he let her, easing to sit on the staircase while she examined him. Jill poked through the massive lobby, looking in crevices and open areas.

The stairs looped around behind a massive foyer to a small outcropping behind. A gate stood between them and whatever lurked below it. Curious, Jill leaned forward - and the sound of wailing had her backing up.

Leon glanced at her, she glanced at him, and he murmured, "Join S.T.A.R.S. she said. It'll be easy, she said."

Jill couldn't stop the laugh. "Is this a nightmare?"

He cleared down the other side of the beautiful marble hallway. The floors were shimmering and almost reflective with how clean they were. If you leaned down, you could almost see your face. The second floor lingered happily, inviting you up to take a peek at what beauties waited beyond.

The moaning wail chased them back to the foyer and it didn't sound beautiful at all.

Rebecca was on her phone, digging through information about the mansion. She murmured, "How does something like this not show up on social media? Facebook. Instagram. Twitter. There should be _something._ "

Leon's watched buzzed and he glanced down it.

Apparently, there's been an update to Bertolucci's YouTube channel.

He clicked it and the picture secured the tiny face of his watch. A girl, frantic, hiding in the dark. "...I'm in the orphanage. I'm trapped in the orphanage. Bertolucci was right...trust no one. Whatever you do...stay away from the mansion in the woods." There was a loud banging sound from somewhere in the dark. Her dirty face tensed up. She was young, pretty, and looked frantic, "I should have listened. I should have listened. He's the Chief. Why would he lie!? But he wasn't working alone. That's the thing...he's never alone. They're in it _together. ALL OF THEM._ "

She glanced behind her, face seizing in fear. "Run. If you see those sunglasses...for god's sake... _run."_

Frowning, Leon glanced over at Jill. She was too busy trying to unlock the main door in the lobby with her picks. He glanced back at Rebecca going through her kit to see what she'd lost in the wood.

And he glanced at the Captain on the stairs.

He was using his own watch and surfing through something. He looked cool and collected. A good leader, a strong reputation, he was just what they needed to help them survive whatever was happening.

Leon's gaze turned down to the step beside Wesker's left hip. His sunglasses sat there, dark and damning.

 _If you see those sunglasses...for god's sake...run..._

She couldn't mean Wesker. Wesker was a hero. He'd once saved a bus load of orphans from a gang shooting. He was a good guy. He was one of them. But what if Bertolucci and RedButterfly were right? What if they were all in it? Who were they? And what was it? And how deep did the rabbit hole go?

Had Wesker led them all here on purpose?

What was in this mansion?

Was the Captain their friend...of their puppet master?

Wesker lifted his face. They locked eyes.

And Leon began to wonder if he was staring into the face of monster.


	5. Wonderland

**Nemesis:**

 **The Last Escape**

 **Part Five:**

 **Wonderland**

* * *

 _Every new beginning comes from some other beginnings end._

― Seneca

* * *

 **Raccoon City - 2018**

* * *

Successfully picking the lock on the big blue door off the foyer, Jill peeked inside to find an enormous dining room. The table in the center could seat one hundred, easily. It was the type of table that hosted dignitaries and patriarchs and people of great importance.

What the hell kind of place was this in the middle of the darkened woods?

An antique typewriter sat to one side on a glistening mahogany pedestal. It looked pristine and untouched. Candlelight flickered and reflected in freshly polished surfaces. A fireplace crackled happily below an elegant mantle.

It was, seemingly, a beautiful place to entertain.

But where were all the people?

Behind her, Wesker instructed, "Check out the mansion, secure the area. Those are your orders. Carry them out."

Rebecca was clicking away on her phone. Jill was guessing that the medic was uploading pictures of the rotting dogs to some server shared by the other scientists she hung around with, most likely looking for answers on to what disease would cause that rate of decay.

Jill nodded and ducked through the door into the dining hall. She brushed her fingers over the type writer and discovered it was fully operational. Curious, she pressed her name and watched it clack in black over the crisp white paper. She snapped a photo of it and used her phone to record the dining room as she narrated.

"It's about sixteen hundred hours and we've just arrived in a mansion in the middle of the Arklay Forest. The place feels abandoned but there's a fire, there's signs of care, and there's evidence of recent inhabitants. Where have they gone? We're starting out search for Barry and Joseph now while the Captain attempts to raise the station and get back up. The killings seemed to be the result of a huge pack of dogs that have taken residence within the forest. Strangely enough, I've never seen domesticated dogs run in a pack that large. And there was something wrong with them. Some kind of infection that has turned them into...what? Early stage necrosis? The flesh was rotting, that's all I know about that." She shrugged into the camera, "Be glad you're not here to see it."

She hit send and delivered the message to Chris.

She shifted to type on the machine - **Jill/Dining Hall/1600**

This way anyone looking for her would know she'd been this way.

Jill eased through the only other door in the dining room and found herself in a small, oppressive hallway. It was narrow, musty, and had the distinct feeling of claustrophobia. It was a throwback to an earlier style of architecture, offering little in the way of visibility. It was all tight turns and limited space. Most likely these passages were once frequented by the staff instead of the family.

She ignored the first door on her right and moved to the end of the hallway. The paper lining the walls was peeling in places, faded, and curled. Once a beautiful and soft red, it was now a graying pink with the suggestion of what might have been fleur de lis. The darkness rumbled wetly as she turned, reflecting the promise of pouring rain beyond the fragile glass window that overlooked a cramped sitting area. A flash of lightning illuminated the horror of what lay there on the floor at her feet.

A feast, it would seem, of a man she'd never met. He was in a white coat, he was on his face, and the thing atop his back was enjoying the dinner made of his throat. It was a moment out of a bad horror movie. It was a moment she'd never forget. It turned to look at her, the zombie, because it was one...it was a zombie. It turned to look at her with blood and skin dripping down its ravaged face. She could see its teeth poking through the pocked flesh of its rotting cheek.

It grumbled, slurping mouthfuls of its fallen former friend. It rose, awkwardly, as the dead would do in a Romero movie. It shambled and turned, stumbling. After all, the feast beneath it was nothing next to living tissue. It no longer cared about the dying man on the floor.

It wanted her.

Jill lifted her weapon without realizing it. She even did her job - she warned it. "Stop right there. Put your hands up."

Did she think it would?

Did she think it would answer her?

Was she waiting for the moment the camera stopped and the director yelled cut?

Maybe. Or maybe she was just in shock.

It moaned. It dripped chunks of its dinner down onto the faded carpet with somehow loud plops of sound. It chomped wetly with ravaged teeth.

Jill tried again, "I said freeze."

And it reached for her anyway. She fired and the bullet thunked into the meat of its chest and had it staggering. It moaned, it didn't really bleed but more...plopped, and the sticky wet slop of its blood hit the floor with a splattering sound of jello. Concerned, she couldn't figure out how something that was shot didn't die...but wasn't it already dead?

Her brain panicked and she opened her mouth to warn it again.

Its ragged fingernails touched the side of her hair and she couldn't believe she was _freezing with fear._ It was horrifying. It was humiliating. It was human.

But it wasn't _her._

 _Neither was the voice that commanded, calmly,_ "Get down."

She did. No thinking. She ducked.

And a gun went off to her right.

Loud.

Close.

Too close.

No body shot. Right through the center of the forehead. Clean. Brutal. Executioner style. It blew chunks of brains and congealed blood all over the ugly wallpaper behind the zombie as it went onto its back and didn't get up again.

And the rookie stood behind her with the end of his barrel still smoking.

Jill whispered, crouched on the floor, "I don't know what the hell happened."

"You panicked. It happens."

"Not to me it doesn't." But she kept crouching in that spot anyway.

"Get up, Jill. It's ok now."

Jesus. Comforted by a rookie. A new low.

But she took the hand he put down to her. He kept his gaze, and his gun, locked on the dead body near the wall as he pulled her up.

Shaking, surprised at her own shock, Jill whispered, "..where's Rick Grimes when we need him?"

Leon answered, quietly, "We need to get out of this mansion. Now."

He was so right. He was absolutely right. She was grateful as all hell that his training hadn't failed him when hers had. Of course she didn't care what the Academy taught you, there was no simulation for "undead assailants". Maybe there should be, given the climate of the world, but so far you still went through simulations with people as your aggressors.

Quietly, Jill speculated, "How did no one know about this mansion?"

Leon shook his head as they pickpocketed the corpse with the white jacket, looking for clues. "I don't know."

"It's not that far from town, Leon. It's on no maps. It on no satellite footage according to Google. It doesn't exist. How has it been hidden?"

Again, the same answer, "I don't know."

"Me either." Jill paused, lifting the ID card clipped to the front of the white coat of the dead man, "Waterford, Ian. What are you doing here, Ian Waterford?"

Leon glanced at the clearance on the badge. "He has staff level clearance, Jill. Hang on to the badge."

She did, pocketing it. "We should report back to the Captain."

"Absolutely." Leon backed up as she turned to head down the hallway. The dead body was still twitching. It was normal, in cases of sudden traumatic death, as the body's natural muscle spasms finished. But he kept waiting for one of them to rise again. Considering it, Leon slid the knife from the front of his vest and stuck it in the base of the skull of the dead Dr. Waterford.

Just in case.

What was every damn zombie movie always screaming? Disable the brain stem.

What had Jill asked? Where was Rick Grimes? He'd trade with the gun toting Sheriff at any point in this bad plot of a story he was living. He couldn't shake the feeling of deja vu anymore than he could the feeling that he simply _didn't belong in this mansion._

He kept thinking Chris Redfield was sitting at home Netflix and Chilling and he was _here - doing his job._

His phone buzzed and he tugged it free, glancing at the notification. A private message from RedButterfly. He hadn't had much hope when he'd PMed her after her video. But to his surprise, she'd replied.

Surprised, Leon opened it. Her pretty dark eyed face appeared, "Rookie98 listen up and listen good- trust no one. Get out of that mansion and meet me - the parking garage beneath the station. Trust _no one._ You hear me? Not your team. Not your gut. Not your mama. The S.T.A.R.S. are Irons' handmaidens. Their all harbingers of the end here. Bertolucci is trapped. I need your help to set him free. You're a cop. You have the clearance to get us all the answers we need to _bring them all down._ It's us against them now. Meet me. Hurry. I have to create a distraction to get out of this orphanage. Hurry."

Trust no one.

No one?

"Leon?"

He glanced up from his phone. Jill was waiting in the dining hall by the big doors. Trust no one. Even her?

His gut told him she wasn't involved. But he wasn't supposed to trust that either.

Was he the fall guy here? She'd heavily recruited him. She'd made it clear he was a shoe in. Was she setting him up to take the fall for whatever was about to go down?

Was she in on it with Wesker and Irons?

Was Redfield getting hurt part of the plan?

Had they taken him out of the equation because he knew something?

Or had they replaced him with Leon because a rookie was a perfect candidate to be a patsy?

Keeping his face blank, Leon hurried toward her. She touched his elbow as he got close, looking at him earnestly. "Thank you. For before. I didn't say it at the time. I'm fucking embarrassed as hell that I let nerves defeat me back there."

Was she?

Or was that part of the plan too?

Maybe the flirtation, the training, the attention...maybe it was all planned.

Maybe he couldn't even trust his own feelings anymore.

He smiled at her. "You kidding? They don't teach a class on surviving zombie attacks. It was instinct more than thought that I even shot it."

Her hand gripped a little above his elbow. Leon watched her face like a hawk. She was pale and looked a little diaphoretic - all clear indicators of trauma. Whatever else was true? Her body was telling the story of a woman who'd just been scared shitless.

If she was acting, she was a pro at it. He took the cues her body was sending to turn her a little toward him. She went into the circle of his arm and put her face agianst his neck.

His arm hooked over her back, a brief hug. Jill shuddered and laughed, self depracatingly, "Some hero huh?"

His internal compass kept telling him she was a good guy. She was one of the good guys. Right? Hell. He wasn't sure what part of that thought was gut instinct, and what part was attraction. He _liked_ her. He didn't want her to be bad.

He didn't like Captain Wesker. It was easy to dislike him intensely. He was cold and exacting. Disliking him was simple. Bad guy was written all over him like a tattoo on his forehead screaming, "VILLAIN."

But Jill?

She acted tough. She had skills and training and loyalty to her team. She was strong willed and determined and funny. She was quick and reacted well under pressure - and panicked like a normal person when a zombie came to eat her. She was just a woman in a mansion where zombies roamed, trapped in a mess that wasn't even clear to them yet.

So he replied, "You kidding? The only reason I didn't piss myself is because I was showing off for you."

Jill laughed. She shivered once more, tapped a hand against his vest covered chest, and let go of him.

"Great. Now I'm the girl that needs to be saved and goes for a hug afterward. Real fucking Wonder Woman over here folks."

"Give yourself a break, Jill. I don't think any of us are prepared for this. You don't have to be the face of feminism here."

"But I need to be better than a damsel in distress, "Jill shook her head, "Shit. You keep checking your phone. Anything on it?"

He shrugged and pocketed his phone. "Nothing noteworthy. Nobody knows anything on social media that I can find."

He went with the advice and avoided anything to do with Bertolucci or RedButterfly. Even if his instincts were telling him he could trust Jill Valentine. Common sense was a better ally than gut instinct any day.

"Let's see if the Captain had any better luck."

She eased open the door to the lobby.

And it was empty.

Surprised, they both froze. The great foyer was devoid of any one else. Where was Wesker? Where was Chambers?

A single boot was lying on its side on the bottom step. Jill shifted toward it and picked it up. Her guts clenched as she looked inside expecting to find what? A foot?

Maybe. Yeah. Maybe a foot.

Jill dropped the boot. "Whose is this?"

Leon sighed. "Too small for Wesker."

"...jesus christ..." She put her face in her hands and took a deep breath, "Something took Rebecca and the Captain."

Leon said nothing, moving to the far side of the lobby. He touched the door there and it swung open, showing a small fountain on the other side with a beautiful nymph pouring water from a jug. But it was empty.

Something had taken Rebecca, he was sure of that. But he was betting that something was Wesker. Why? Because a random YouTuber had suggested he avoid the "man in glasses"?

Or because sometimes, sometimes, sometimes you just had to go with your guts - wrong or not.

He glanced at Jill over his shoulder. She was easing up the staircase with her gun held loosely at her side. His guts told him she was good. His guts told him they shouldn't separate. His guts told him this was just the beginning of their nightmare.

How much trust did he want to put in one random message from a stranger?

And how much in himself?

He should let Jill go up those steps alone. Protocol said they split up and secure the area.

But his guts told him they should stay together. Safety in numbers. They had no idea what waited behind closed doors in this mansion. What they did know?

Something was working in the shadows to kill them.

Was Jill what was working in the shadows?

He just didn't _know._

But he couldn't let her go alone. If she was, she'd get in touch with whoever was working with her. He'd be outmanned, outnumbered, and outplayed. If she wasn't, she might stumble into something and panic or get kidnapped or die. She'd said partners to him once. She said Chris was her partner.

She said he was meant to go side by side with her into danger.

Was this what she meant?

Leon called, quietly, "Hey."

She paused, glancing down at him. He took a deep breath and said, "Maybe we should stick together and secure this floor first."

Jill considered things and answered, "We can cover more ground faster alone."

"True. But we can also die faster that way as well."

"...you got me there."

She was hesitant to leave him anyway. Putting aside her initial over reaction to the dead guy trying to eat her, she felt safer in pairs. Hell, she and Chris did pairs work religiously. She was just better part of a team. She just was.

Jill nodded and came back down the stairs. She joined him near the door and nodded to him. They took up places on either side and counted off.

One, Two, Three.

Jill swung the door in and cleared low. Leon went high. The room was empty but they weren't alone. Not exactly.

A set of moans joined their footfalls as they eased in. The small off chute of a hallway before them was blocked by a narrow dresser. But the hands of those beyond it poked into the crack to grab for them.

The answer to a question unasked lingered between them.

Whatever had happened at this mansion - no one was left alive.

The door just beyond the burbling fountain was locked. Jill easily picked the lock while Leon secured the dresser tighter to the passage beyond it, sealing in the undead that moaned and shambled.

With the door open, they shifted into the hallway beyond. This one was still narrow, still oppressive and dark and cold, but the tiles on the floor were shiny and white and the walls were lined with cabinets filled with expensive china tooled in red. Their shoes clacked and squeaked as they walked. It smelled vaguely of disinfectant and floor wax. There was the vague under tinge of lemon grass.

Jill paused, sniffing, and announced, "...is that weed?"

Leon, sniffing harder, asserted, "Maybe clove cigarettes or something? Honestly I can't remember the last time I smelled dope."

Jill shook her head, "You don't forget it, rookie. It's dope. Somebody in here was lighting up."

Curious, Leon followed his nose to a bend in the hallway. It was a big door that was graced with two busts in the shape of eagles. It was happily unlocked and opened into a room that looked like -

Jill laughed, ironically, "A people size chessboard?"

And so it was. The pieces were as tall as Jill. Leon towered over the pawns but was on par with the Kings. It was incredibly detailed.

What kind of mansion was this!?

They moved into the room very slowly. There were pieces in mid move. A black pawn, a rook, and a King sat in the middle of a complex check mate. The Queen waited patiently in white on the other end of the board. There was no Queen for the black side. There was a pawn and a King on the white in play. But no rook.

Where was the black queen?

Jill vocalized the question and Leon muttered, "...you mean Beyonce?"

She paused halfway across the board and glanced at him drolly. He shrugged, looking sheepish. "Sorry. I make bad jokes when I'm nervous."

Amused, Jill reached the desk beyond the chessboard. A pretty blotter in dark green sat atop its gleaming surface. It had notes written in short hand jotted along the heavy white paper.

The desk was locked tight and there was no picking it. There was no key hole. Jill jerked on the drawer uselessly. Leon mused, "The station used to be a museum right?"

"Right," Jill glanced at him as he circled the black pawn, "Like Ripley's Believe it or Not or something they said. A museum for the weird and unusual. Why?"

"You get the same kind of vibes here that I get from the RPD?"

Jill paused, considering, "Like everything is a puzzle?"

"Yeah. Exactly." He touched the pawn, "What happens if I break the check mate?"

Jill shrugged, "Maybe this damn desk opens."

"Maybe." He shifted and moved the white King out of the line of the rook and pawn who'd trapped him. Putting his shoulder into the piece, he simply shifted it one square over.

The room made a small sound like a sigh. There was a grinding sound of gears. The board squares beneath the pieces lit up, glowing brightly in the dark room. A humming sound started above them and the floor began making a fine grey mist. It had no odor.

But it didn't need one.

Jill was already dizzy.

She whispered, "What did you do? Put it back."

He tried. He did. He really did. But the piece was stuck. "I can't!" He ran for the door instead and found it locked. "...fuck."

That was putting it mildly.

She grabbed the desk, swaying madly. "It's nerve gas, Leon! We'll die in this goddamn room!"

He scanned the glowing board and glanced at the ceiling. Above them a five minute timer had started. Something clicked in his chest and he muttered, "We have to win the game."

Jill swayed, dizzy but still alert, "What?"

"We have to win the game, Jill. We have five minutes before we pass the fuck out and probably die. But we have to win."

She scanned the board, desperately, "We can't check the other King without the missing queen."

Leon nodded, scanning the room. He coughed, feeling a little like maybe he was the one who'd been smoking dope. "Let's find the fucking missing piece. Hurry."

Honestly none of it made sense. It couldn't. They and the desk were the only things in the fucking room. Where was the queen hiding? We're they just screwed anyway?

And finally Leon gasped and said, "Wait...wait...you've seen Harry Potter right?"

Jill moved to the barred window behind the desk, jerking on the bars desperately, "Get to the point, rookie."

"We have to be the chess pieces. Us. Come here. Hurry."

She did, without asking, because he just might be right. She took the position of the black queen and he took up the place of the white rook. She was just as good at chess as he was. And they moved efficiently, trying to checkmate the other side.

When it was down to them and their Kings, Leon gasped, "...ok ok. You need to checkmate my king to win. Right?"

Jill nearly fell over with how dizzy she was but he kept a hand on her arm and she murmured, "Right. Right. Yes."

"Ok. I'll check your King. The second I do that, you take me. That'll leave my King open for you to checkmate."

"'Great."

He shifted to check her King. The board sparkled brightly. But the game didn't end.

Jill whispered, "What does it want!?"

And Leon guessed, "It wants you to take me out. Take me out. Now."

"What?"

"HIT ME!"

She did. They were down to thirty seconds. She hit him so hard in the chest it threw him to his butt on the floor. He slid over it and bumped into his King piece. Jill shifted and called, "Check mate!" The board beeped twice and a vacuuming sound started loudly. Two vents opened above them to suck all the mist upward.

Leon was curled on his side trying to relearn to breathe. Jill hurried foward, still light headed, "I'm so sorry. Are you alright?"

"...jeez, lady, you could have just pushed me down to the ground or something. Shit."

"Sorry. But you yelled HIT ME. So I hit you."

He took her hand as she pulled him to his feet. "I'd hate to see what happened if I yelled KISS MY ASS."

Jill chuckled, brushing off the ass in question as he turned. He'd go down in a big mess of dust. "It's a nice ass. Objectively speaking."

Amused, Leon patted her arm. "Let's see what we earned for our rousing game of man size chess huh?"

The desk was unlocked. Inside the drawer, a tiny gold key rested. It had a heart atop it. Beneath the key a note encouraged: **"'Begin at the beginning,' the King said gravely, 'and go on till you come to the end: then stop."**

Jill arched her brows and Leon mused, "...I don't get it."

Murmuring, she rollled the small key in her palm. "It's from _Alice in Wonderland._...in fact...there's a giant chessboard in _Through the Looking Glass_..." She turned toward the board again, chewing her lip.

"Do you know anything about the book?"

Leon shrugged, stepping up beside her. "Just the basics. Why?"

And she whispered, softly, "I think we're going to need to play within the rules of the book here."

"What rules are those?"

She glanced at him and answered softly, "Madness. Caroll was reportedly quite mad and quite high when he wrote it. This mansion? If it's modeled after Wonderland...it's going to be madness. I'll be impossible."

Leon held her gaze, coolly, determinedly and replied, ""Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast."

Surprised, Jill tilted her head at him. "You said you didn't read it."

"No. I said I knew the basics." He gestured toward the door, "Shall we? Let's see how deep this rabbit hole goes."

Like Alice before them, it would appear they didn't really have a choice. She was almost afraid what, in this mansion, was going to start yelling, "Off with their heads!"


	6. Down the Rabbit Hole

**Nemesis:**

 **The Last Escape**

 **Part Six:**

 **Down the Rabbit Hole**

* * *

 _Every new beginning comes from some other beginnings end._

― Seneca

* * *

 **Raccoon City - 2018**

* * *

The door with the heart on it didn't hide the white rabbit.

She wasn't sure why she was disappointed, but Jill felt a tinge of regret when the door opened and they found themselves in a music room. No dancing flowers. No Cats floating in the air. No cards attempting to cut off her head.

Just a piano beneath a portrait of a castle.

Curious, Jill moved toward it while Leon inspected the pristine bar behind the piano. It was lined with bottles of liquid without labels. The bottles were similar to old perfume bottles. Some had the little hand pump for spritzing oneself with whatever concoction was held within.

Jill studied the piece of sheet music on the piano. The tune was Moonlight Sonata. Jill touched the first few keys on the piano and the strong notes soared into the quiet solarium.

She stopped and there was a grinding sound behind the bar.

Leon informed her, "Keep playing. Ok?"

She did, following the notes with ease. There was a click and a rolling grind of gears. She kept on playing as Leon disappeared behind the piece of wall that slid open. She heard his footsteps stop, reverse, and he emerged clutching a little golden shield.

Curious, she stopped playing. The wall slid closed as the silence spilled around them. "...ok."

He shrugged and tucked it into his vest. "Who knows in this place?"

It was the truth.

Like Wonderland, nothing made sense.

The mystery of what this place was hiding remained. For the life of her, Jill couldn't figure it out. The remote location, the diverse and extensive time and effort spent building traps and puzzles to waylay the errant traveler, the obvious attention to detail regarding immersion into a fantasy world...it was bordering on some kind of insanity. Who'd built this place?

She was waiting for Chris to hit her back with his online digging and some answers.

Maybe they'd luck out and find out it used to belong to Edgar Allen Poe or something. Maybe Poe was a fan of Caroll. Maybe it was all a series of elaborate games played by the former horror writer to trap those who attempted to breach his inner sanctum and find his hidden works.

Amused, Jill stopped and shook her head. Leon glanced back at her, "What is it?"

"I'm trying to figure out how in the hell we got here."

He gave her a shrug of one nicely muscled shoulder, "Dark was night and long was the path that led us to temptation."

She tilted her head. He held her gaze until she finally queried, "Who is that?"

"Nobody. That's just me." He shrugged again and eased open the rickety gray door that awaited them at the end of the dusty hallway. He cleared it high and Jill went low but it was just a study. Empty - save for a crackling fire and a shotgun hung nicely above a spotless mantle.

The chair Leon touched as he passed it was still warm.

Someone had, literally, _just_ been sitting there.

He reached for the shotgun above the mantle and Jill called, softly, "...wait! Leon, wait."

He did, glancing at her. She mused, "It's never, ever, this easy. You take that gun, I'm betting you trigger a trap."

He nodded, lowering his hand. "No doubt. But what's the catch?"

"Give me a minute." She turned, surveying the room. "If we go under the assumption that the mansion is Wonderland...it means most of the puzzles will be related to the book."

"The book...or the movie?"

Surprised, she glanced at him. It was a _good_ question. It was intelligent in a way she wasn't expecting. She hadn't considered, once, that the mansion might have been modeled after a film version of the classic tale of Alice and her adventures.

But Jill answered, "I think it's the book. The chessboard is _Through the Looking Glass,_ that's definitely not as common of a conversion to film."

"True." Leon scanned the little study, "But that means we need to figure out what the book might tell us about this type of puzzle."

Jill studied the shotgun on the wall. Even that was classic, old, and a double barrel beauty from a time before high powered was the name of the game. It wasn't a pump action one at all. It was the kind you had to crack to load.

"What do you remember about the books?"

"Enough to know I'd rather be at home watching PewDiePie."

Jill snorted out a laugh, "You start spouting off about meat scepters and I'll probably pee myself."

Leon opened his mouth to proudly say something flirty and dirty and he paused, tilting his head. "Jill?"

"Yeah?"

"Look up."

She did, freezing when see caught sight of what he meant. There was a tiny little heart pull on the chandelier above them. It matched the key they'd found in the drawer.

Jill was too short to reach it, so Leon tugged it gently. The lights went out. The fire extinguished instantly. The darkness spilled cold and cool around them.

And the white rabbit appeared in glowing beauty on the wall above Jill's head. Leon took her shoulders to turn her toward it. They both stared, hesitating.

Finally, Leon shrugged and touched the rabbit.

There was a smooth shifting of sound and the rabbit slid away like a door opening. Inside, a tiny blue vial waited. The moment he picked it up, the lights clicked back on.

The fire whooshed to life.

The room was so eerily quiet that Jill cleared her throat. "What does it say?"

He glanced at her, the blonde spill of his hair leaving one eye completed obscured, "...guess."

But she already knew. Of course she did. She'd read the book a thousand times as a girl. Quietly, she replied, "...drink me."

"Bingo." He sighed, shaking his head, "I don't think it's a wise idea to drink a strange vial of shit in a mansion filled with zombies."

Jill shook her head. "Don't. Forget it. Let's just go back and wait. Someone will come to find us eventually right? Let's just...go back."

Leon gave her a calm look. She finally balked under his expression and nodded, taking two breaths, "Right. Right. Sorry. Just a little freak out."

He patted her wrist as she said, "I guess we should decide who drinks the bo-"

Too late. He'd already shot it back in a single swallow. Jill stared at him as he stared back at her. "...you feeling anything?"

A handful of moments passed before he answered, "Not really. Am I shrinking or something?"

She felt her mouth curve into a smile. Alice, in the books, had shrunk to small enough to fit through a mouse hole after ingesting the potion. Leon was still...Leon. He hadn't really changed at a-

His fingers trailed over the inside of her wrist and up to her elbow. The skin tingled happily at the touch. Quietly, he murmured, "Your skin is smooth. Silky."

"...what?"

He shifted into her personal space. Surprised, she let him back her against the wall. His nose shifted behind her ear to scent her or something. He sniffed, trailing his nose to her collarbone. "...you fucking smell incredible."

Jill blinked twice before she could find the voice to answer, "...thank you?"

What the hell was wrong with him? This was so not the place for a make out session. He was acting like a complete horn dog. It didn't make any sense at all.

His lips pressed against the pulse in her neck. It sped up, annoying her, and causing his breath to blow damp and warm against her skin.

"Like that, huh?"

Why was he acting like he was-of course. _He was high._

Jill grabbed his face and tugged it back from her neck. His pupils were dilated and huge. Her mouth twitched, "Feeling good?"

His hand slid against her hip. "Oh, yeah. Jill?"

"Mmm?" She scanned his face. Clearly he was high from the potion. The question was why? What was the purpose of it?

Leon leaned down until their noses brushed and whispered, "I wanna see you naked."

He was something else. She was soooo going to hold this against him later. For now, she needed him to use whatever was happening in that brain for the purpose of escaping this mansion.

"Leon?"

"Let's just stay in this room and fuck, Jill. Maybe we die, but we'll die happy."

Lord have mercy. He was something else.

"That's the dumbest thing anyone, anywhere, ever suggested." What was entirely dumb? Her body liked the idea. She felt her heart thump hard, twice, before she could clear her throat and wet her dry lips to speak again.

He leaned down like he'd kiss her and she halted him with her hands on his face. She tried again, "Leon?"

He wasn't paying attention. He was trying to get his hand in her pants. Jill shook her head, drew back her hand from his cheek, and slapped it instead. She gave it a good smack and had him gasping.

"There we go, rookie. Pay attention. You hear me?"

His ear ringing, he muttered, "...yeah. Yeah I hear ya."

"Ok. I'm gonna pull the chain on the light again. I want you to look with those big eyes of yours and tell me what you see."

She slid away from the wall and hated her heart for knocking happily behind her ribs. Damn the human condition. It allowed you to enjoy a handsome man's attentions even when the timing couldn't possibly be worse.

She pulled the chain. The room went pitch black. Into the dark, she queried, "You see anything?"

"Everything."

"What?"

"I see everything."

"Like what?"

"Like...you."

"Ok. But what about something else?"

Quietly, Leon murmured, "What am I looking for?"

"Probably something edible. Alice ate a cake to grow large in the book. Look for something you'd eat."

In hindsight, it was probably the wrong thing to say to a guy who was high as a kite and horny from it. She probably should have seen it coming. Probably.

"Something to eat?"

"Yeah. Like a cupcake or something."

"Or a Jill sandwich?"

"A wh-"

His mouth closed over hers, surprising her. She tried to stop him, maybe. Maybe she tried. He half carried her back to the wall. Her back bumped it, her head tilted back, and her mouth just opened. It opened.

It was just a breath. It was. It was just a single breath of time. But it was long enough to scramble her brains.

She forgot, in that second, what they were doing there. To her surprise, he let her go first and gasped, "...shit. shit. I'm so sorry. I just c-wait. Wait. Jill?"

Hoarse, breathless, she responded, "...yeah?"

"Reach over your head."

Her hand groped in the dark. It circled around an object. In the dark, she lowered it. "What is it?"

"I don't know. A vase? The rabbit is on the vase. Dump it over into your hand."

She did and the small package tumbled free, settling into her palm. She held it toward him in the dark. "Eat it."

"About before...I-"

"Don't. It doesn't matter. Just...eat whatever this is." Not a sandwich. It wasn't a sandwich. Nope. It was a cake or something. It wasn't her.

She didn't even want him to "eat" her. That was stupid. That was-ok. Ok. It was true. It was kinda true. She was attracted to him. Hell, she'd known that from the beginning.

It was fine. She was an adult. She was mature and professional and a grown up. She didn't need rookies kissing her and groping her in the dark and getting high and making euphemism about eating her.

He chewed on the thing from the vase. The world narrowed to a shiny silver vortex. The white rabbit was in the fire place.

Leon knelt and reached inside. He touched the rabbit where the flames had been. The stones were cool and sharp. They cut his palm. Blood burst red and ruby like from his hand. Surprised, he watched it glitter and fall into the smoldering ashes beneath him.

Where it struck, the world bled rainbow bright. He swayed, rising, and the fire leapt to life in the fireplace glowing and sparking and sizzling. His blood had reawakened it. How was that even possible?

The fireplace shivered and showed a door beyond the flames. They'd have to crawl to get through the door. They'd have to cross the fire to use the door. They'd have to crawl over the flames to go out the door. How was that even possible?

Jill whispered, "What the hell? It was a flood of water from Alice's tears in the book."

And Leon answered, "This time...maybe it's tears of blood."

This house was a nightmare. Wonderland for the undead.

Jill said, "Maybe we can use the cushions from the chair to cross the flames?"

He started to answer and his spine snapped him upright. His hands went numb. Reasons you should never, ever, eat strange biscuits you find in a vase in a rotting mansion of madness.

His body jerked. He stumbled. He grabbed for his chest and cried out. Jill shouted his name.

Those handful of moments bled into one big one. Because whatever he'd eaten had caused him to stop breathing. Jill made a sound of fear and reached in the dark for him.

The lights clicked back on.

He tumbled forward into her arms. He was utterly still. She couldn't hold him and lost her grip. He went to the floor in the middle of the ugly carpet.

Jill rolled him to his back to start doing chest compressions.

She straddled him and pushed. Something in the floor clicked twice. The shotgun slid off the wall to bounce across the floor and slide.

She had the gun.

The fire went out and the door was waiting.

And Leon Kennedy was dead on the floor beneath her.

* * *

 **Post Note:** _An old friend shows his face for the first time in the next chapter. He'll start chasing our heroes in this mansion that is nothing like the one we think we knew. How far down the rabbit hole will we go?_


End file.
